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another-fantasy-world · 3 years

Text

5:1 with Natasha Romanoff

GIF isn’t mine

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Title: The 5 Times Natasha Held Her Tears Back, And The One Time She Couldn't

Pairings: (Romantic) Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: Angst. Just pure angst. Maybe a sprinkle of Fluff. Major Character Death

Reader Pronouns: She/They, (I don't even think I put the reader's pronouns in, but it's what I was thinking of.)

Word Count: 5065 words

Author's note: I was feeling angsty these past few weeks so why not? I think this is all the angst I have stored in my body for this month. I'll go back to writing fluff now. I sincerely apologize for this.

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You hated this.

Of course you did. SHIELD managed to destroy what you considered a home. It wasn't the best, they made you fight each other, they made you sit in a chair, electrocuting you or injecting you with weird chemicals. But you were their best, the best in that institute, and now you would have to fight for the top spot again.

“You. You're facing our newbie. We need to test her strength.” This too old to be alive, bulky man pointed at a brunette girl, who was now shaking.

“Let's see if you are what they made you out to be.” Madame B uttered as the guy pushed you to the center.

“Begin.” She said, her eyes focused on your movement.

You begin by circling the brunette, sizing her up. The perks of the power you were born with is that you can easily see their weak spots, parts that would make them cry out for mercy that you'll never give.

She begins the fight with a fatal mistake, running at you with her fist almost hitting your face, you caught the fist and twisted it just enough for her wrist to be broken. She didn't scream, which was disappointing.

You decided to do the next move, still holding her broken wrist, you held her elbow and flipped her onto her back, knocking the air out of her.

“Stand up.” You glared at the brunette, pissed that she was knocked down way too easily.

And she stands up, hiding her broken wrist behind her back as she fought with her legs and feet instead. Blocking a high kick, you held her right foot and slammed your elbow to her knee as hard as you can, making her leg bend in an unnatural way, this time making her scream in pain as she fell down to the ground.

“Eliminate the weak.” Madame B's voice echoed in the room

“Understood.” You replied, kicking the brunette so her face is on the ground. No matter how hard they train and brainwash you, you refused to see the face of your victims as they died, so you always turn their head the opposite way. She cries and begs for mercy, and you smirk at her pathetic attempts of surviving. Should've fought better then.

Producing a dagger from your thigh, you straddled her hips and plunged the dagger deep into where you know her heart is, making blood pool around her.

“Hmm.” Madame B hummed, her body language shows her positivity.

“Fine. We'll take her in.” Madame B said to your previous handler

You stand there, bored out of your brain as people clean the mess you made.

“Natalia.” The name Madame B mumbled brought you back to reality as a gorgeous redhead made her way to you.

“She's going to be the one you'll see frequently. Both of you are going on missions, so get along girls. I can't have our greatest assets kill each other.”

“Natalia.”

“Y/N” you accepted her handshake, her tight grip on your hand as she pulls you close.

“You'll regret killing her.” her voice faltered, giving away that she's close to sobbing her little heart out.

“The weak has no place in this world. It's kill or be killed, Natalia.” You bit back, your grip also tightening

As your handler led you away to a cell specifically made for you, You could swear you heard Natalia say something.

You turned back to see Natasha's beautiful green eyes lined with tears she desperately pulled back.

“Remember me.” She mouthed, tilting her head up to prevent the tears from falling.

It was the first time you saw Natalia hold her tears back

II.

You don't know how to feel.

Natalia escaped the Red room. You were extremely proud of her for escaping this hell. But you were pissed that she didn't even try to inform you of it.

You had been in a mission, an attempt for you to forget about the bond you and Natalia had, It didn't work, because the second you landed, you teleported to her room. A new power that you obtained from them, only to find her bed occupied with another. You grit your teeth and opted to kill this girl that's laying on your beloved's bed.

“Silence. Don't waste your time. She is not here, and killing that girl will not erase that feeling in your heart. We have another mission, let all your frustration out on that.” Your new handler said. This handler was much more gentler than the last one you killed, and you refrained from killing her because of that. She had become a mother of sorts.

“Another mission? I just got back.” You shook your head.

“You need to. I think you'll be interested in this one. Budapest” She hands you a file.

…and Natalia's face was plastered on the file.

“What is this?” You grit out

“Natalia joined SHIELD.”

The anger you felt was what led to where you are now.

“Y/N! Stop! Listen to me!” She grunts as you both land blow, after blow. You, letting all your frustrations out with your body, and her defending herself

“Why should I? You left me. YOU BETRAYED ME!” You say, your thoughts clouded

“They're using you! Fuck. They only see you as an asset for fucks sake!” She winces in pain as your dagger nicks her face, blood dripping from the wound on her face

“I know. So come and save me.” You mumbled when you had her in your arms, a dagger on her throat, threatening to slice it open.

“...I can't” She says, holding back her tears, her hands trying to find your other hand, trying to find comfort in this sick reality

“Then so be it.” You say with finality, hearing your handler say that the mission was complete, and you fulfilled your role of being the distraction.

You drop Natalia, her hand on her throat, trying to stop the bleeding. You both know it wasn't lethal, but it was still bleeding a lot.

“Be careful Natalia.” You whispered, before turning away from her, refusing to see her teary eyes. The sharpshooter was by her side in an instant, making you wish that it was you comforting her, not this man named after a bird.

Natalia can't help but stare at your retreating figure, guilt, regret, anger and sadness weighing her down. 8 years of training with each other, 8 years of flirty missions that would get you both punished, and 8 years of friendship, thrown down the drain, all because she refused to fight for you, all because she was following the rules set for her. It was then she realized, SHIELD isn't that much different from the red room and HYDRA.

Natasha held her tears back once again.

III.

You felt excited for once.

After years of boring, too easy missions that were given to you, you were finally qualified enough for a mission with the Avengers, as if mass murdering people and assassinating people weren't enough qualification. HYDRA suspects that the Avengers will interfere with this specific mission, so they sent you to be a guard of some sort. You complained at first, wanting to move around and not be a body guard, but now you were relieved that your handler persisted you take this role.

“Come here often?” The green-eyed woman says, ordering herself a cocktail.

“No. Not at all. My sister was invited to this whole thing, and I just tagged along. Her personal bodyguard if you will.” You say, facing her and sipping your drink

“Natasha.” She chuckles, extending her hand

“Y/N” You chuckle back, she changed her name again.

“You never changed your name?” She asked, scooting closer to you, sipping on her orange-colored cocktail.

“It's part of my charm, why change it?” You smirked

“What are you doing here, Silence.” She says, her playful attitude disappearing, a frown now placed on her pretty face.

“Ouch, Natalia. Busting out the professional nicknames, that's painful. And giving up on that flirty tactic already? My, my. You must be getting rusty then.” You say, clutching your heart in faux pain

“I don't have time to waste, Y/LN. What. Does. HYDRA. Want. From. Samantha. Durkink?” You chuckled at her attempt of fishing out info

“Why don't you ask Samantha herself?” You say, lifting your glass to the target's general direction.

Natasha's eyes followed the direction you pointed, and there she was, the target, dressed in a dark violet medieval era-like gown, her eyes then roamed around to the delicately decorated ballroom, fit for a royal ball.

You watch her as she tried to get through the crowed that was dancing, laughing lightly when you see her struggling. You then laughed once again when a man mistook her for a dancing partner and instantly pulled her to dance, the crowd was dancing together, all in sync, which amazed you.

After a few minutes, you decide to take Natasha out of her misery.

“May I cut in?” You ask the man who was dressed like that one prince from that movie, Ice or something. You only saw it when you babysat Red room candidates.

He nodded and you slipped Natasha into your arms, your hands on her waist and palm, while her hands were on your shoulder and palm. The two of you waltz quietly for a few minutes, before you leaned into her ear, the one you knew had her comms.

“You have approximately 7 minutes to leave the building with your team. I personally dislike what they are about to do, but HYDRA has found a rather unorthodox way of burning evidence. And as much as I don't like it. It's a way easier way of...burning the evidence away with a bang. You understand right?” You pat her head, looking into her eyes fondly, letting your guard slip for just a second.

“I'm proud of you.”

And that was all Natasha could hear for the past hour. Even as she stared at the now burning mansion, the screams of people that were trapped in that building resonating in the air. Even as she was being suffocated by her team's emotions because the mission failed. All she can hear and see is you. Your eyes burning with passion she had never seen before, not even in missions, you always had an emotionless look on your face, much like hers. And yet, there you were, under the chandelier, looking at her like you care for her, looking at her like she's your world, looking at as if you...love her.

And that was what led Natasha to hold her tears back, even if she was in the privacy of her own room, her eyes on the small rectangular box you gave her.

She refused to believe that you love her. No. Love is for children. Love isn't meant for her. Love isn't meant for you. Love. No. She doesn't deserve love. Especially not from you.

She held her tears back harder when she realized. When all the “unexplained circumstances” happened, she never found who caused it. And now she knew. Now she realized.

You never stopped caring for her after all these years.

IV.

You care for her

After months of beating yourself up, you finally accepted it. You care for this reckless, red-haired assassin, who always seem like she never gets her life together. This green-eyed goddess who can never catch a break. This assassin who betrayed you. This woman who babysits Gods. This woman, who's sleeping beside you, her face oddly peaceful and calm, a complete opposite for what you were feeling.

“Idiot. Spending time with other idiots has made her an idiot herself.” You mumbled, flipping a page of this random fantasy story that's been translated to Russian.

“Hmmn. You were talking shit there Y/LN?” She stirred

“I was. You slept for 2 days Nat.” You say with no emotion in your voice.

“So mean.” She says, reaching around you, pulling you close and buried her head on your stomach. You were taken aback. She was never like this...unless

“What happened yesterday Nat? You know how forgetful I get.” You smiled at her sweetly

“Well, we were on a mission in Indonesia, and you killed your handler to give me ice cream.” She smiled

…ah- her brain must've reset itself when she almost drowned

“...I'm sorry Nat.” You say, a frown on your face.

“When did you start calling me Nat?” She asks, to which you just smirked

“Free, Proven, Easy, Loyal, Secret, Care, Loyal, Love.” You spoke in Russian, and Natasha's eyes turned blank, before they turned into panic

“Y/N? Oh my god.”

“...You have become annoyingly American.” You scoffed, annoyed that her first words after being brought back to reality are that of a Typical American

“Well, I at least needed to pass as American born or else I would've been deported you ass!” She goes to punch your face, but you blocked it with your book.

“Not the face Natalia.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes when she winced in pain

“Don't force your body. You have a flesh wound from the bullet that grazed you.” You say, placing your book on the nightstand and guide her to lay down.

“You promised not to use those words unless needed, Atrax.” She grunts, a cold hard glare directed to you.

“And I knew you wouldn't like living in a false reality, Widow.” You thumped her head with your palm.

“...That reality is a dream we once knew.” She mumbles, tears threatening to fall

You hold her face, wiping the tears before they fall. You knew her as much as she knows you. She hates showing weakness, She hates crying, So you vowed to never let her cry in front of you again.

“It's a dream that I can make a reality.” You nodded

“what?” She asks after a while, surprised

“If I could escape this hell, I would. And I'll bring you along with me, even if I have to tie a rope on your waist. We'll travel to a peaceful land far away and build ourselves a beautiful house with a backyard. Maybe a kid or two. But no more than that. 2 dogs, 2 cats, 3 spiders and 1 snake” You quoted yourself from 10 years ago, making her chuckle, but abruptly stops

“We were young.” She says, frowning

“And?”

“We were foolish Y/N. We were kids!” She shouts in your face

“...ah. I understand. You think that I break my promises? Well newsflash widow. I didn't break a single promise I made!” A look of anger in your face, you drag Natasha by her uninjured arm and pulled her right in front of the bathroom mirror.

“Look at me. Look at you. I promised you that someday you'll look at ballet as a form of comfort and not remind you of the pain it caused, You dance whenever you feel the need to cry! I promised you that you'll get out of that damn red room with or without me, And look what happened! Granted that I wasn't the one to get you out, I made sure you never returned. I promised that someday we'll look into each other's eyes without a dagger on each other's throat...” You trailed off, her green eyes tearing up again.

“I promised that I'll never let you cry in front of me. And I intend to fulfill that.” You say, wiping the tears before they fell once again

“It's not crying if tears don't fall.” You quote her from 12 years ago

And at that moment, Natasha let herself indulge in this sinful dream of hers. Her lips touched yours as moonlight made her bare skin glow, her taking what's rightfully hers, sitting on her own throne. The sweat trailing down her skin as quiet music erupt from both of you. You never wanted this moment to end, but alas the sun rose, and it was time to face reality once again.

“I can't...” She says the moment the sun shone through the curtains.

“I understand.” You say, standing up to get yourself dressed

“I'll leave you with a choice then. If you change your mind.” You softly say to her, left hand clutching the bag that you need and the other holding her face softly.

“See you in a minute.”

Natasha once again held her tears back, her hands trembling as it held the two envelopes that seem so heavy. One containing fresh, new, fake identity and a plane ticket to God knows where. And the other held a car key, a house key and some money to aid her travel back to the compound. Well the choice is heavy. To leave the Avengers behind, and rekindle a lost flame in a faraway land, or to stay, and continue to fight and to protect.

In the end, Natasha chose them.

You felt at peace.

A couple months at a quiet town did wonders to your mental health. You were now playing piano in an old studio made to teach young students ballet. It was now abandoned, but you bought it, just for the nostalgia

“I knew I'd find you here.” You hear her voice echoing, You stopped playing Swan Lake, OP.20, Act II for a second

“Hmmhmmn. You've always been the better spy out of both of us.” You say, switching your piece to The Nutcracker: Dance of Sugar-Plum Fairy

“Ah. My outfit isn't fit for ballet” She says

“That never stopped you before, Widow.” You chuckled, smiling wider when she started to dance to the rhythm you set.

“Why didn't you stay there?” She asked while floating around the room, your piece now switched to The Sleeping Beauty, Ballet Suite, Op.66a: V. Valse.

“Not my scene, as I hate to admit. I missed the chaos. But I miss the silence too. It's a tough choice.”

“Trust me. I know.” She scoffs, then her eye widens at how insensitive that sounded

“Heh. Of course.”

“Switch to Giselle, will you?” She asks, her toes supported her weight even though she's not wearing pointe shoes

“Bossy.” You mumbled, but complying anyways

And there you both reveled in the bond you both had. Both expressing your feelings in the way that you knew the most. Music and Ballet. Your feelings of Regret, merging with Natasha's, Your feelings of Shame, battled Natasha's sadness, Your pride shoved down your throat as Natasha also shoved hers. As the melody you played turned into a much softer tune, Natasha's love vibrated through the air, as did yours, The feelings you held back came crashing down as you too try to hold back your tears.

There was no need to explain to each other. You both knew. Well, you sure hope she knew what you think. After all, you left her a letter in each envelope. And while she never sent a letter back, she had the habit of hacking into your morning radio and deliver small messages through Morse code, leaving you to figure out her puzzle of a message.

“You're happy. I like that.” You say, abandoning your piano to approach her

“I'm happy because of them.” She says, her green eyes staring back at yours

“Good. I'm glad. You seem different now.” Your eyes filled with tears, turning your back to her as you wiped the tears from your eyes

“Dance with me?” You take the hand on your shoulder, and let her guide you in dancing. Waltz has always been your favorite.

“I felt like we've done this before.” She says, her head dropping on your shoulders

“Perhaps in another life.” You concluded, spinning her

As you continue dancing to the silent music, you can't help but think how much you loved this woman. And that you could never handle the pain of letting her go again.

You also knew what this felt like. Farewell. Last Dance. You held her closer.

Natasha was saying farewell.

But you can't let her go. Not now. Not when you just accepted that you do love her, you're in love with this divine being, you're in love with Natasha Romanoff.

Even when no one taught you how to love, even when you knew love is for children, even when you know she's too good for you, even when she's an entirely different person when she's with you, her gentle gazes drown you, even when you know you're not worth of even touching her. You still accepted that you are in love. You are in love with Natalia Alianovna Romanoff.

And you know she feels the same. So why?

Why?

Why was she walking away now?

Why?

Why are you letting her get away?

Why?

Why did you let her break your peace?

Why?

Why did you let her break you?

“Take care of yourself.”

Four words and the sight of her back getting farther and farther away is enough to completely shatter your already broken heart.

Madame B was right. Love is for children.

Natasha didn't need to look back.

She couldn't

Not when your sobs ring throughout the whole studio

Natasha once again held back her tears.

Natasha once again held back the words.

Natasha once again held back her feelings.

Natasha once again held back her tears.

She can never get you back now can she?

Natasha held her tears back.

Pain. Dark. Cold.

That was all you felt right now.

Hours ago, you fulfilled another promise you made when Natasha left you. To make her feel pain. To make her feel the pain she caused you. You fought the Avengers one by one. Catching them off guard and capturing them. Creating cells for them and them only.

You created an elaborate trap for all of them.

You wanted all of them to feel your pain.

You wanted them to know the feeling.

The feeling. The feeling of pain you felt every time Natasha chose them over you.

The feeling of pain when they stole Natasha over and over again.

But you knew you were only making excuses for yourself.

Who could blame you?

Well, all of them apparently.

And then you saw how Natasha fought for them. Screaming for you to let them go. Her resolve never faltering as she fought, taking the floors of the building by storm. Reaching each area where you keep each Avenger captive.

It was then you knew.

They were the villains in your story. Always in the way of you getting your princess back.

Oh how blind and foolish you were.

You were always the villain in their story. The ex-hydra agent who killed more than The Winter Soldier and Black Widow combined. You were the evil sorcerer.

And them? They were the royal knights protecting the Queen.

You scoffed at yourself. Of course you would make a grave mistake. You let yourself drown in the emotions you weren't supposed to have anyways.

“That heart is what'll get you killed. Mark my words, Silence.” Madame B's last words before you killed her.

You deactivated the whole building before leaving a note for Natalia.

You teleported to the rooftop, letting the air kiss your skin. You let yourself enjoy.

Because for once in your life, you don't know what happens next.

“... Atrax.”

“Widow.”

“How could you?”

“...A circle has no beginning nor end. What happens in the beginning shall happen again in the end to fulfill the cycle.” You say, drawing your dagger and turning to face her in all her glory.

The Sun's rays gently touches her skin, leaving her glowing slightly. This. This is one of the many memories you wish to remember when you get reincarnated once again.

She pulls out a familiar dagger. The one you gave her before you blew up that one mansion.

“Are we really going to end this way?” She says, anger and pain shone in her eyes as her face mimicked an emotionless stare.

“It would seem so.”

And so the clashing of blades began. Punch after punch. Kick after kick. Takedowns after takedowns. You don't want to lose. And neither does she.

You both then engaged into what you can call, the dance of death. With the clashing daggers as the music and combat as your choreography.

And then Natasha changed the rhythm. Using her dagger to slice your cheek, just as you did her in Budapest. But that also caused her to open a weak spot of hers.

Ignoring the pain, you decide to change the rhythm as well. Moving like a snake, tangling your feet to hers, making her fall down. You then slammed your boot on her chest, slowly putting pressure, slowly smashing her ribs, making her clutch your ankle, trying to gasp for air.

“Any last words Nat- Black Widow?” You ask, pointing the dagger right above her heart.

“...I love you.” Natasha finally let the three words out of her mouth, regretting not saying it earlier.

You tensed up, your shoulders tensing. Anger flared in your eyes.

Why now?

Why?

Is this fake?

Is she lying?

Why?

“Why now?” You whispered, not even bothering to hold back your tears.

You're tired.

Too tired.

“I always did. I just- Ugh. I just never had the courage to tell you.” She grunts out, trying to push your foot away, but you ended up digging it into her deeper.

“...Liar.” You gritted out, swiftly plunging the knife deep in her heart, enjoying the feel of her blood slowly emerging from her heart, the sight of the life in her eyes slowly fade.

You broke your ritual. You didn't turn her back to you. You saw her face.

…

Why?

Because you didn't kill her.

Natasha thought she was dead. In fact, she felt your dagger dig into her skin.

So why?

Why does she feel your hand in hers.

Right...

You have powers.

…

You have powers.

She instantly opened her eyes, her brain catching up.

“NO! What have you done! You stupid! Reckless! Piece of Shit!” She says, she slaps your face as she sees your eyes closing.

Pain Transfer.

You transferred her pain to your body. You transferred her lethal wound into yours. You sacrificed yourself to save her from the death that you, yourself, caused

You basically killed yourself.

“Forgive me, Natalia. I broke our promise.” You pulled her bloody hand from your chest and held it tightly in your hand.

“You promised to stay alive as long as I am. You never break your promises.” Natasha held her tears back, crying will make it real.

Your death isn't real. No. But loving you is.

She never got the chance to show you how much she loves you.

“This is our reality Nat. I was foolish to think I could ever change it...” You trailed off, coughing out blood. This was the first time you thanked your powers for moving so slow. You have more time. With her. And that's all you could ever ask for,

“...Stop crying Natalia. Heroes always win remember? Besides, I knew you'd let yourself die before you ever think of killing me, so I did it myself.” You grinned at her as best as you can.

“Idiot.” She whispered

“I love you too you know? Please remember that I love you. They love you too. But I love you the most.” You whispered back, the moonlight shining on your bare skin.

Natasha always go back to that night you shared whenever she sees the moonlight, but now, it's corrupted by the feeling of your grip slowly loosening, until it's only her that's holding on.

It was you who always held on.

You held on to the bond no matter how many times you got hurt because of it.

You held on to the hope that someday, you'll get to call her yours, and she gets to call you hers.

You held on, even as she repeatedly let you go.

And she can't help but regret that. She regrets it so much more now.

Now, she's the only one left.

There was nothing more to hold on to.

Nothing but the promise of living a life without you by her side.

Nothing but the memory of your smile.

The memory of you scolding her every time she got hurt.

Memories of you laughing

Memories of you dancing. Dancing with her.

She doesn't know how to say bye to you.

She doesn't know how to let you go now.

It seems like, she's done it so much that she forgot how to do so now.

She remembers every single promise you made. And the one promise you broke.

She can only hope that you can forgive her.

She's going to make you break your own promise.

But it's void now right?

You're gone.

She can cry now right?

She can cry as she reads the last letter you left?

She can cry as she reads the journal where you put all your memories in, because you're afraid of forgetting her, right?

She can cry as she opens the velvet box right?

She can cry as she puts the ring you left her as her necklace right?

She can cry as she reads that all your properties are now hers, right?

She can cry now.

She can let go of her feelings now.

But she can never let you go.

And then, for once Natasha used FRIDAY's soundproof function.

For once. Natasha let her emotions run rampant.

For once, she cried. She sobbed. She screamed. As if it'd make you come back.

If you were foolish enough to think that you can change reality, Then Natasha was foolish enough to hope you come back.

Natasha couldn't hold her tears back anymore.

Taglist: @jj-arms @satxnsupreme

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow angst #natasha romanoff angst

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bibislut · 4 years

Text

A Girl Walks Into A Tower

After finding out her best friend is actually Spider Man, Leena's whole world changes. Enter: a meddlesome billionaire, some flirty super soldiers, and one (1) stubborn God of Mischief. Throw in a real need for better communication, a game of spin the bottle and a whole load of banter - and you'll have yourself a real good time at Stark Tower.

Also known as Loki is hella sexy, hella moody and really freakin' stubborn. Featuring: Peter Parker being the cutest, Sam Wilson being a cheeky bitch and a little bit of being a bad ass on the reader's part.

This work has explicit language, sexual content and some mentions of blood / violence, so please take this into consideration before reading!

Word Count: 19,260

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1

You couldn't help but close your eyes as you took the stairs up to your apartment by memory. You'd lived here for nearly a decade now, and the 9 flights' every creak and whine were ingrained in your memory by now, and the 10 hour shift you'd just done could be felt in every muscle: you couldn't help but rest your eyes for a moment.

You finally reached your landing and opened your eyes only to find Peter Parker dozing against your door frame, dried blood staining his skin from his hairline to his eye. The seventeen year old often came to you for a stitch up, not wanting to frighten his Aunt with his injuries. You frowned down at his snoring form and hitched your bag better on your shoulder, crouching down to place your hand on his cheek. "Peter." you whispered, not wanting to startle him. The teenager opened his eyes with a dopey smile.

"Hey, Lele."

"Hey idiot, let's get you inside." You couldn't help but return his warm smile as he shrugged off your attempt to help him up - you always forgot how strong he was. You pulled your keys from out of your pocket and opened the door. Dropping your bag to the floor, you flicked on the lights and shut the door behind Peter, watching him limp to your kitchen table.

"What happened this time?" you asked as you rolled up your sleeves and washed your hands. You reached for a flannel from the bottom drawer and ran it under the hot water.

"Just some kids from school."

Even though you couldn't see his face, you knew the teenager would be picking at his lips like he did every time he lied. You knew he'd never tell you what really went on before he turned up to your apartment - he never did. You rung out the cloth.

"I swear to God Peter, if I come home one day to find you dead on my doorstep, I will resurrect you just to kill you myself." You couldn't help the motherly tone that clipped your words, despite only having a few years on the boy. Peter winced both at your words and at the pressure you applied as you wiped away the blood. As you cleaned the wound, you were relieved to see that it wouldn't need stitches, but there was a good chance it would scar. You frowned.

"I know, I know! I'm sorry Leena..." He surged forwards to wrap you in a tight hug and you sighed into his hair. You'd known him since he was 6 and you were practically family now. His uncle and your dad had died the same year, your mom joining them a few years ago. You'd always looked after each other, silently vowing protection over the other with each funeral attended. A loud banging at the door pulled you both apart, and you looked at each other in silence as you went to the drawers and pulled out your handgun, Peter walking into the shadows as was protocol (though you had never had to follow it before).

You were a good shot, but Peter was much more quiet and agile - a surprise attack suited him well. You don't know when you'd both become so jumpy, perhaps it was when Aliens began ransacking the city in 2012, or when the murders on the news became more frequent, or when... It didn't really matter. The world was a shit storm, and you'd let hell freeze over before you let anyone you loved get hurt because you weren't prepared.

You looked through the peephole to see someone you most certainly would not have expected. You turned to whisper to the shadows where you knew Peter was. "It's Tony Stark!" Peter emerged quickly, pushing you out of the way to unlatch the door, leaving you gaping like a fish.

"Hey, Mr Stark!" He threw himself at the billionaire, wrapping his arms around him. The businessman-turned-superhero patted the boy's back. The dirt that covered Peter smeared across the obviously expensive navy suit, but neither seemed to care.

"Good to see you alive, kid. Friday said you had some injuries and when I looked on your suit tracker you weren't in your apartment." He pulled Peter back to stare at him sternly. "Care to explain?" You looked at the two of them in shock. Since when had Peter met Tony Stark? And since when had they become so obviously close? The worry etched across the philanthropist's face certainly seemed genuine enough.

Peter turned to look at you anxiously. "I was with Leena, I stopped a robbery a couple blocks away, but they must have got me because I was bleeding, so I came here. She does a great job of cleaning me up, and I didn't want to scare Aunt May, you know how she wo-" he babbled, looking between the two of you, but stopped as Tony made a 'zip it' motion. You frowned at Peter's words; since when did he stop robberies? You put the gun you forgot you had been holding in the waist pants of your jeans and stepped forwards, offering your hand, which was far steadier than you expected.

"I'm Leena, I've known Peter since we were kids."

Tony shakes your hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, Tony Stark." You look between the two of them as awkward silence begins to fill the air. You turn to gesture towards your apartment.

"Would you like to come in?" That was what you were supposed to do, right? Offer hospitality? You shook your head quickly to yourself. What the hell was going on?

You lead the way for the two guys, but put a hand on Peter's chest. "Go wash your hands before I catch you putting dirt in the wound I just cleaned." He offers you a salute as he turns down the corridor.

You make your way back to the kitchen to find Mr Stark lounging at the table in the spot where Peter had sat. "Tea or Coffee?" you ask. You wonder for a moment if the month old dollar brew in your cupboard is even worth offering.

"Coffee, black, one sugar." He offers you a thankful smile. You turn around and pull out three mugs, one tea, one coffee and one hot chocolate for Peter. "I bet cleaning up Mr Friendly-Neighborhood-Spider-Boy gets a bit tiring." The billionaire offers as a replacement for the silence. You stiffen, turning to stare at him.

"What?"

He curses under his breath “He didn't tell you?" The business mogul suddenly looks panicked - a glaring contrast to the confident man you'd seen on TV.

You snap your neck to look at the now-frozen Peter Parker standing in the doorway, a sheepish smile on his face.

"What the flying fuck, Peter?!"

***************

You woke the next day at noon, not as rested as you'd hoped after you'd spent most of last night arguing with Peter. You had to admit you were proud of him, and it did make a lot of sense now that you thought about it. His constant 'fights at school', how light on his feet he was, how agile, how strong he was. You were kind of pissed that you hadn't figured it out before to be honest. You had had a hard time believing it all, but once Peter pulled his suit from his stash behind the couch, you didn't really have a choice but to accept the truth. Tony Stark had also been quite nice to talk to, and the way he treated Peter as his own was so great to see. He'd always needed a father figure. Tony had watched the two of you with rapt interest, seemingly pleased to meet someone so close to Peter. After a while Peter fell asleep on the couch, his head on your shoulder and you and Tony had mouthed your goodbyes. He'd woken up about an hour later and you gave him a hug as he climbed through your window to sneak back to his own apartment.

You sat up and stretched, stifling a yawn as you padded down the hall to the kitchen. A big yellow envelope hung from your letter box and you grabbed it curiously.

EVICTION NOTICE!

"Shit!" You cursed loudly, tearing it open. You knew the landlord was a slimy bastard, but you couldn't believe he was kicking you out. He was a selfish layabout and owned a few of the apartments in the building, yours being the nicest and largest. Knowing him, he probably wanted it so he could move in with his new girlfriend. Of course, he didn't say that in the notice, only that you had two weeks to pack your things and go.

*****

You'd spent the whole day at work lost in your thoughts, barely noticing the caffeine crazed customers around you.You didn't have enough saved to move anywhere decent, yet alone pay the first month's rent upfront as most landlords wanted. You couldn't move in with family - they were all dead or on the other side of the country. You didn't really have any close friends, only your work colleagues. That left Peter's place - but you knew they didn't have a spare room and you certainly couldn't squish everything you had into their living room.

You were still racking your brains by the time the last customer left the coffee shop at 9.55PM, and you hurried to wash their cup and sweep up, locking up and leaving. You trudged through the bitter cold of late-October the five blocks back to your building, bumping into the spider-boy himself in the foyer. You began walking up the stairs together, but found Peter frowning at you as you realized he'd asked you a question. You blinked at him.

"What?"

"You alright Lele? You seem distracted."

You pushed your hair out of your face with a grimace. "I'm being evicted."

It was Peter's turn to blink at you. "What?"

"That bozo, Ethan, is kicking me out." You tried to keep the childlike petulance out of your voice but failed miserably.

"Oh, shit. What are you gonna do?" You hated to be the reason for Peter's worried expression.

"I don't know. I'll figure something out though Pete, I always do." You kissed him on the cheek and patted him on the arm as you reached your perspective doors. "Goodnight, Pete."

Friday was usually games night, but he seemed to understand your lack of excitement without you having to explain. You threw him a grateful look and went your separate ways.

Read the rest on Ao3

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki x you #loki smut #loki fluff #loki angst #loki fic #loki fanfic #mcu #peter parker #a girl walks into a tower

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chibi-chanforever · 3 years

Text

𝕌𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕝 𝕕𝕠𝕠𝕞𝕤𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕤 || 𝟙 ||

Pairing: Kozume Kenma x Fem! Reader

Summary : Your world was awfully small. It was a simple puzzle and the biggest piece belonged to this one person named Kuroo Tetsuro. However, as time passes Kuroo’s puzzle gains another important piece and in your anxiety to not lose him to someone else you decide to add that piece to your life as well. So you're introduced to Kozume Kenma, who you only saw as a package deal that comes with ‘Tetsu’ . As the years passed feelings changed, what once was childish adoration bloomed into the flower of youthful affection. What you didn’t realise is that in order to protect your flower that grew for Kuroo, you began plucking petals off the flower that bloomed for you.

Wordcount : 1.4 k

Warnings: Family breakdown

A/N:

f/c- favorite cartoon

Chichai- little (pronounced>like a 5 year old kid saying wittle)

Special thanks to ssrated1volleyballplayer ヽ(^ 。^)/, NewFriendJen>.< and vanillekiss <3 for beta reading!

||prologue||

‘Huh? Why did I want Testu to love me?’

This blatant thought brought you out of the trance you’ve been stuck in ever since your friends spoke about the ‘husband’ topic. ‘EW! Love is gross! I hate love!’

According to you, nothing good came out of love. At that tender age, love was something you didn't quite understand and you had little knowledge about the subject. You knew your mom loved you, you knew your dad loved you too! You also knew that they loved each other... but in the end what was the result? You were alone; You were left behind by both of them, and now, you were living with your grandparents, trying your best to fit in this new area.

After your dad had left, the first three months were horrible. Your mom had gotten really quiet, she would burst into tears at odd times and spent hours staring at the wall? And after three months your mom had left you at her parents house saying that you reminded her too much of him and it hurt her too much.

*＊✿❀ You distinctly remember what happened; You had come down to drink water and had almost entered the kitchen, but was stopped short when you heard your mother’s voice. It was clear that she had been crying and the way her words were slurred, you assumed she had been drinking too.

You could hear that she was talking to someone on the phone; you took a step forward to go and hug your mom, to tell her that you love her, that everything was going to be alright. However, her next words left you lifeless; You stood there paralyzed as your mom’s extremely broken voice felt like sharp shards of glass piercing your ears. You felt like your ears would bleed when you heard her.

“I can't take it anymore mom! I can’t bear to look at her. It hurts so much mom… AHHH it just hurts so much, I want to di-” You made a run for it, you didn’t think you could stomach any further than this. You went to your bedroom, hid under the sheets and kept reiterating,

“This is a dream! This is a dream! This has to be a bad dream! This is a dream”

What happened after that was very fuzzy, you felt numb. You couldn’t remember much, but when you came back to your senses, your mom was waving at you; your grandma was holding your hand, waving to your mom for you.

You saw delicate tears fall and drip down your mom’s chin , ‘why was she crying?’ You wondered, already unnerved by what was happening. Your legs began to move before you realised, you ran towards your mom, hugging her knees and begging her to take you with her.

“WHY ARE YOU LEAVING ME?” You screamed.

“I’m not leaving you honey! I’ll come to see you on the weekends! Mommy just needs some time sweetheart.” She said, while simultaneously trying to pry your little hands off her leg.

You still wouldn’t let go of her leg and kept pleading, “I’ll be a good girl! I won’t trouble you mommy! Please! Don’t go because you hate me! I swear I’ll listen! ”

“Oh sweetheart, Mommy’s not leaving because she hates you,” and then she uttered those horrible words.

“It's because I love you Y/N” ❀✿＊*

‘Does love mean that you leave the person you love behind? Then no! I absolutely do not love Tetsu and I don’t want Tetsu to love me either. I will never leave Tetsu behind! Even if it means I will never love him…..but why does it hurt? Why does it feel like loving Tetsu is what I am supposed to do? But no! I can't ever leave him, not now, not ever.’

You cherished Tetsu and under no circumstances, ever wanted to lose him. After years, you had finally found some stability in your life and you weren’t ready to give that up, not in a million years, come what may! You would fight an army if you had to!

‘Tetsu won’t leave me if I don’t love him right? Thats easy, I'll just stick by him and be the perfect friend, forever and ever,’ But somewhere deep down, you knew this was wrong; Things would change, they always do. However you weren’t ready to accept it just yet.

Meanwhile Kuroo had found a new interest. His life had gone ahead and started to diverge into a new path, while you were desperately trying to protect yours from breaking down. Little did you know that Kuroo was going to open a new world for you, after horribly breaking down your old one.

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

It's been about a year now, since you’ve known Kuroo.

Nothing has changed much really; He was still the same old goofy guy you used to and still continue to adore. However, recently it has come to your attention that Kuroo has started to spend a lot of time practicing something called volleyball? This resulted in the time he spent with you to diminish slowly as days passed by.

“Testu do you want to watch f/c today?” You would ask.

“Next time! I gotta go play volleyball” Was what you’d get. Wanna go to the garden? Gotta play volleyball! Wanna hang out after school? Gotta play volleyball! Wanna go see the new comic collection at the store? Sorry I Gotta. Play. Volleyball.

This new discovery was eating at you, and you felt like Kuroo was making up an excuse to not hang out with you. Whenever you asked him about volleyball, his eyes would light up like stars in the velvety night sky, but he wouldn’t really give you much details about it, besides the fact that it's super awesome.

Whenever he spoke about volleyball, it frequently went like “The ball came at me and I spiked so hard, and it went like voosh! And it was so awesome! You know I’m quite tall for my age right, so I can block the ball really well. And you know, you know...” And it went on and on and on without any real information on how the game is actually played.

And suddenly, you remember that you heard a name. ‘Shit I wasn’t paying attention, I blanked for one second and I missed out! What did he say? Whose name did he take? Ke? Ke- something! GOD, why didn’t I pay attention. He’s gone too ahead now and I can't even ask him or he’ll whine that I never listen to him! This is so frustrating! Ugh!’

In the end, all you knew was that he didn’t play alone, which meant that he was spending his time with someone else more, and this unconsciously made you anxious. Your mind was running a million miles per minute with thoughts like,

‘Soon Tetsu will stop hanging out with me, he’ll never want to see me again, he’ll forget about me, he’ll realise how much of a disappointment I really am!’ Your mind kept on creating more of such thoughts that brought all your fears to life.

These thoughts started getting darker and darker by each passing second, festering and reopening closed wounds. No! You couldn’t go down that road again, you had to do something!

The next day, you got up extra early, ready to execute the strategy on which you spent more than half the night planning. Going over the steps and possibilities over and over, until you were determined that it would work. So you walked up to Kuroo, “ Hey Tetsu~” You sang out, “Hey chichai” he says smugly, fully aware of how annoyed you get with the name.

“I told you to stop calling me that!” You whine, your face which was now dusted with a pink hue, was facing away from Kuroo to hide how flustered you got when he called you such names.

‘I can’t get distracted! Not now at least! I have to do it, it’s now or never. Deep breaths y/n, you can do this! It’s just one question, c’mon’ You sigh before looking at Kuroo, your face still slightly pink. Kuroo looked at you with a worried expression, “ y/n are you feeling-” He gets cut of by your question,

"𝑪𝑨𝑵 𝑰 𝑷𝑳𝑨𝒀 𝑽𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝒀𝑩𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝒀𝑶𝑼?~"

THANK YOU FOR READING!

Taglists are open!

Requests are open!

@mysh @animefandomally

#haikyuu fanfiction #love #angst #fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#kuroo tetsurō #kuroo x reader #reader insert #school #kenma kozume #reader x kenma #family #family issues #fanfic #first fanfic #you #young love

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years

Text

A fresh Start

This was prompted by a wonderful anon! I really enjoyed this! I hope you do too!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: repressed childhood trauma, self harm (description of scars and mention of cutting oneself))

‘Phck you, you phcking tin-can!’ It wasn’t the first time Gavin shouted at Nines in the bullpen, but it was the first time their argument held on for so long. The Detective had come down from Fowler’s office just to stop in front of Nines who was still seated at his table. Gavin had begun screaming curse words at him causing Nines to rise to his feet. But the added height and the fact that he stood in front of an android build for war failed to intimidate the man. If anything, it made him even angrier. ‘How could I ever trust you?’, Gavin screamed, subconsciously taking position to evade a coming blow from Nines. ‘How? If you pull something like this without even phcking preparing me?’ ‘Gavin, I don’t even know what you mean, I-‘ ‘No! Don’t you even dare go down this road! Don’t pretend you didn’t mean it. Don’t dare pretending this wasn’t exactly what you wanted! As if anyone in this damn precinct wouldn’t be happy about me being gone. You don’t want me to die on the job, yeah, no one dares to voice that and it isn’t decent to think about that, am I right?’ ‘Gavin-‘ ‘Oh, but if I conveniently disappeared, that wouldn’t be so bad. You don’t care if I take a vacation, or if I’m sick, or suspended. You wouldn’t care if I got fired! You would like that, wouldn’t you? Finally getting rid of that annoying brat that never was good for anything than causing trouble. Would be a nice life, wouldn’t it?’ ‘Gavin!’

The Detective’s head spun around, and he focussed back on Nines who looked far more offended by that than from any curse thrown his way before. But Gavin didn’t back down. He pointed at his collarbone, stopping only centimetres away from actually touching him. ‘Phck off, tin-can! Phck. Off. You all get what you phcking wished for. See you assholes next week!’

Gavin stomped away, determined on getting home while his head was already in his liquor cabinet in his kitchen. But Nines had grabbed his arm to hold him back and an unstoppable force met an immovable object. He felt his leather jacket being pulled from his shoulder halfway down his arm. Then Nines’ grip fastened, realising he wouldn’t stop Gavin this way. Then he heard the fabric of his old hoodie tear apart. In a panic, he tried to pull himself free, but only managed to lose the sleeve of his jacket completely and rip his hoodie the entire length from amidst his upper arm down to the seam.

Time stopped. Mortified, Gavin looked up at the android who held the piece of fabric from the hoodie in his hand and stared at it quizzically. Both seemed to realise Gavin’s arm lay bare for everyone to see that very second and Nines’ eyes widened. Too frozen by totally irrational fear, Gavin didn’t move when the android gently held his wrist to get a better look at the white lines criss-crossing all over his arm in no discernible pattern. When he started using his other hand to trace them though, it all got too much. Gavin pulled his arm to his chest and struggled to catch the side of his jacket to pull it back over his shoulder and hide the arm. He looked back at Nines once with an unintentionally hurt and fearful expression on his face, before finally bolting. He had to get out, just get out of there and get home. He was safe there. He didn’t have to play a role or be the strong guy anymore. He had to get home. Now.

Nines had watched Gavin run away from him. He had been aware of the faces of his co-workers watching him. He did the only logical thing and went back to his desk to continue working. But he couldn’t concentrate. He had folded the ripped piece of fabric and laid it next to his terminal hoping to look busy, so the rest of the force went back to their work. In truth he continued thinking about what just happened. The Detective had screamed at him frequently. He had screamed at everyone on a daily basis and was quite renown to be a huge asshole. Nines could work with him and the Detective’s outbursts were always quick to be over. But not this time. This time he just knew he had overstepped a boundary. But he didn’t know what action of his had led to this. And then there was this new discovery about the man. These… scars. These white lines he had covered up. Since when? Nines could not remember a day Gavin hadn’t worn long sleeves, now that he thought about it. He had put it on poor circulation resulting in a permanent feeling of cold in the Detective. But now… Maybe there was more to it.

And Nines needed to know. He had to know how these scars had come to exist and what he had done to receive such a reaction from the man. If only so it wouldn’t happen again. He made a decision. Once his shift was over, he would drive over to his house and talk with him before getting back home himself. If the man was even willing to talk. If Gavin would even open the door.

Even though he had doubts, he still had to at least attempt on getting some information. He thought about the right words to get the Detective’s attention and convince him not to just slam the door in his face while he sat in a bus heading his direction. When he finally stood in front of said door and had rung the doorbell, he clearly hadn’t expected he didn’t even need these words. A tired looking Gavin opened the door and stared at him out of red swollen eyes. His eyes didn’t allow any question, as he just stared up at the android from the gap between door and frame. Then he sighed and opened the door completely. ‘Come on in.’

Surprised, Nines followed the invitation and scanned the room. His eyes managed to fall on the kitchen table that supported a first aid kit. The android turned to the human. ‘Gavin what-‘ He stopped as his eyes fell on the man’s bloody arm, but Gavin would have interrupted him that moment anyways: ‘Shut up, tin-can. Let me take care of this first and then we can talk.’ ‘Why do you agree on talking about it?’, Nines asked nonetheless. This behaviour was entirely atypical for the human. ‘You wouldn’t have accepted that and went home regardless of my answer, right?’ Nines hummed. ‘I would have for today. Although I doubt, I would have let the topic fall.’ ‘See? Better to get it out of the world before you confront me at work and everyone knows about it.’

Nines followed Gavin to the table and sat down opposite of the man, watching how he dabbed a wet cloth over his arm to wash the blood away. Nines saw several clean cuts, not deep enough to be of any real danger. Most had already stopped bleeding by themselves. Afterwards, Gavin covered them with a light bandage and pulled the torn sleeve from his hoodie over it. He had experience in cleaning these kinds of wounds. Nines didn’t want to think about why he had it.

Gavin put his tools away, threw the razor blade he had cut himself with away and closed the lid of the first aid kit. Apparently, that was the sign conversation was allowed to start. ‘Before you say anything, I know it is a bad habit and that I should stop but I can’t, so don’t even try.’ Nines nodded. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to convince him later though. For now, he only asked: ‘Why?’ Gavin blew air through his teeth while reclining on his chair. ‘To have a reason to cry? To focus on something? To destress?’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because my dad’s an asshole?’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because I wasn’t good enough?’

Nines sighed in frustration. ‘Gavin, either don’t tell me anything or explain it to me, but please, make a decision.’ ‘Alright. Men aren’t supposed to cry, right? If a child cries, it’s because that’s what children do. If a teenager cries, it’s because of idiotic crushes and hormones. If an adult cries, it’s because they aren’t manly enough or weak or some bullshit. No one ever asks why they cry. But if you are hurt you are allowed to cry because that is pain and bodily responses and no one can control that.’ He looked up at Nines, who just nodded encouragingly. ‘My dad favoured my brother. Nothing unusual, I mean many people have that problem growing up. And with Eli that was reasonable. I mean, I would have favoured him too. It’s just the same as buying something new instead of second hand. I’m not angry about Eli getting all the attention, I can live with that. I was…’ He swallowed and covered the piece of bandage visible through the tear in his sleeve with his hand as if that could hide it away from Nines’ memories. ‘I had problems being told I wasn’t enough. Didn’t matter what I did, I was always told I wouldn’t be as good as Eli. It was true, I knew I would never be. But I didn’t need to hear that. They could have told me what I did was bad or not worth the effort, but they told me I could never improve. And if you hear that shit long enough from people you look up to, you start to believe it.’ He stayed quiet for a while, before cursing. ‘Phck, I need a drink for this.’

He stood up and came back a few minutes later with a bottle of wine and two glasses, realising too late that, shit, android. He shrugged and placed them anyways, filling only his. ‘I cried a lot. Whenever I thought about how useless it was to put any effort in anything because I would never be good, I asked myself why even continuing. But I liked what I did, I enjoyed school, even though I never got good grades. So I continued and cried when I needed to. My mom always was concerned when I did, coming to my room and trying to comfort me. She meant well I guess, but it didn’t really help. Because every time she tried to speak to my dad, he would come to talk with me, scolding him for not having the guts to talk with him when I had a problem. So in trying to help she made it worse, so I told her to stop. She did. Don’t know if it made it better or worse though.’ He took a long sip from his glass.

‘Well, I started cutting myself then. It helped focussing on something real too. I moved out the moment I finished school and a friend of mine, Tina, applied at the police academy. So I thought to do that too. Didn’t really knew what to do anyways. And life got better. I had nothing else in my life, so I put my everything into this. And I was good. I was praised for my good grades and exceptional performance. Likely was the first time anyone did that. When I started working at the precinct Fowler was far more of a dad for me than my real father could ever be. Made it Detective in no time, could have been Lieutenant by now, I guess. But… Well, I’m still an asshole. Can’t take criticism without immediately lashing out. I get easily riled up in tough situations and having mental problems recognised in your patient’s file doesn’t help either.’

Gavin closed his eyes and concentrated on just breathing for a moment. ‘My work is all I have. All I’ll be ever good at and I like it. I’m happy when I can be there. I enjoy being a detective. I don’t need to make it big. I can afford a home and what I need to live and can go on vacation.’

This time Gavin kept quiet and didn’t make any move to break the silence between them. ‘Why are you telling me this now?’, Nines dared to ask. ‘Why have you never spoken about this before?’ ‘Because I’ll quit’, Gavin answered, his voice wavery again. ‘Or ask for a transfer. Or try and get a grip in the PI business. I don’t know yet. But I need a fresh start, I need a second chance somewhere where no one knows me yet. I need to try to be better.’ ‘What did I do wrong, Gavin? You clearly made that decision after leaving Fowler’s office and you were angry with me before your feelings overwhelmed you. What did I do wrong?’ Gavin watched him for a long time, maybe trying to see whether he was joking or not. ‘You did nothing wrong, tin-can. You just wrote a report that got me suspended, but it were my actions that lead to that. I can’t punch a suspect in the interrogation room. I know that. And I still did it.’ ‘He provoked you.’ Gavin grumbled something unintelligible. ‘Well yes, but I shouldn’t have done it still.’

Nines thought about what the human had said. It was Gavin’s fault, but still Nines couldn’t shake the feeling that he could have done something to intervene and stop it from happening. If he had known Gavin better back then in the interrogation room, maybe he would have recognised what the suspect had been trying to do when speaking to the Detective. He was quite certain he knew Gavin’s weakness now. He could try and protect that spot that would hurt most when struck.

‘Why not stay?’, Nines asked. ‘With what I told you just now? Never. You’ll just laugh at me and tell the others.’ ‘Have I laughed at you once since you told me what bothers you?’, Nines defended himself. ‘I value the trust you put in me by telling me, Gavin. Your secret is safe with me. I am your partner and I will support you if you want me to. I won’t tell anyone.’ ‘Huh’, Gavin huffed unfazed. ‘As if.’ ‘I promise you I will never tell anyone until I am no longer functioning. And if I do you have the explicit permission to put a bullet through my central processor.’

That made the man lift his brows. ‘Alright. Still, even if you kept your mouth shut. Why should I suddenly change who I am?’ ‘I could keep you from sabotaging yourself. You just told me what could trigger you to lose control and I can look out for them. We could try to be a… a real team instead of just co-workers. If you allow me, of course.’ Gavin sat up and smirked at him. ‘A real team, huh?’ He tapped his fingers on the table and bopped his head a few times, mulling it over. ‘Could work. Don’t know why you’d offer that to the precinct’s asshole who continuously screams at you, but I’ll take it.’ Nines smiled, feeling his stress levels settle a bit. ‘Then consider this at least our fresh start as co-workers.’ Gavin chuckled and took the bottle to fill his glass anew.

‘As partners, dumbass.’

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #slaps roof of Gavin #this bad boy can fit so much childhood trauma #Poor Gavin #But Nines will take care of him

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cyberneticfandoms · 4 years

Text

Devoid of Stability

(Credit to Void!Al goes to @rileesrambles !)

(Sequel to my other fic Devoid of Music)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: Alastor

TW: panic attacks, self-harm, slight gore

~~~

Alastor may have… miscalculated. Yes, he thought as staggering pain tore through his stomach- he had made a slight oversight.

Alastor had faced starvation before. He was sure he would've been able to deal with it again, but he was wrong, and this was so much worse than before. With no way to tell how much time had already passed – a sinking feeling told him the answer was a lot - and a whole eternity ahead of him the ache-turned-agony quickly became overwhelming.

That was how he found himself curled up on the ground, hugging his chest, trailing his claws over every rib that poked through his dress shirt – his hands must've been shaking incredibly hard because he kept clawing himself – and squeezing his eyes shut tighter in hopes of sleeping his way through this new hell. He didn't care if he woke up screaming with his heart pounding out of his chest like every other time he'd tried to rest, he just needed any reprieve from the hollow, jagged feeling that had taken up residence in his gut.

Of course, when he'd wish to be unconscious his body would refuse!

“Ha… i-if Husker were here…” His teeth grit together at the thought of his grumpy companion. The one-sided conversations that would turn into late-night discussions when neither felt much like sleeping. The begrudging way Husk had finally gotten used to Alastor's constantly fluctuating touchy moments. “I could certainly use one of his strongest drinks…!” The deer demon’s smile went shaky, his eyes snapping open and flitting about, while he swallowed the bile that threatened to rise out of his dry throat.

With the nausea periodically threatening to make him purge his body of what little energy it had left and his head threatening to crack open with the building pressure of a headache he’d gotten hours – days, weeks, months? – ago, it was a wonder he didn’t go completely insane. He wasn’t crazy. He may be hopeless, hurting, admittedly terrified, but he was not broken. And if he talked to himself, well, it was only to fill the silence.

“My… Shadow would even make interesting company at this point,” he quipped, tired of his own thoughts chasing themselves round and round pointlessly. “It would likely… cackle at my misfortune but who could blame it?” He let out a sharp laugh. “My inky companion’s company could possibly account for entertainment if I were bored enough…” By Lucifer he was bored enough. There was nothing to do but think until his incapacitated body finished working its way from the constant pain, to a blissful numbness. It was certainly taking its time but Alastor just laughed harder at that because he had all of it in the world to wait! Now he just had to keep his thoughts safely away from his friend- coworkers and acquaintances…

…Curse it all.

A groan escaped at the familiar lonesome feeling that gripped his chest in a vice, and his jaw snapped shut in frustration at his own traitorous train of thought. Alastor forced his teeth to unclench, his red eyes trailing blearily down to look away from the black on black on black- and down to the pathetic quivering mess he’d become. Thinking of them was always a bad idea and, try as he might, he found that he couldn’t stop himself from shaking or his eyes from burning or the little hitches in his breath from becoming more apparent the longer he tried to control them. These little… “episodes” would only get more frequent as he thought of his- his friends, not just coworkers, not just acquaintances- and they just kept getting worse.

What was he supposed to do when the dread crept up because of his messed up internal clock and the thoughts of his friends that forced their way to the forefront of his mind? Because surely it couldn’t have been weeks or months that had passed- they wouldn’t have forgotten about him… right?

A whimper wrenched itself from Alastor’s throat, and his mouth snapped shut so fast he tasted iron. Charlie would be concerned, he realized as he removed his teeth from his healing tongue. With eyes nearly turning to radio dials and his claws sharpening at the tangy blood pooling in his mouth, the deer demon hurriedly swallowed, unable to disregard the coppery smell invading the otherwise senseless air and making his heart pound harder. His claws clutched at his already disheveled shirt while he struggled to get his breathing under control.

There wasn’t food. It was his own blood. He was being ridiculous. He absolutely would not turn here, not now, not ever. Think of something else. He was in control; he would not let the Wendigo roam free here and waste even more energy.

…He was sure Angel would have some sexual remark for this situation.

Alastor let out a choked laugh at the absurdity of the evasive thought, even as twin tracks of tears rolled down his face. He didn’t bother with wiping them away. This was something different to think about, and yet, it was just barely better. He couldn’t believe he’d ever grown fond of the porn star considering what he did for a living. The thought still made his face burn and his wavering smile twist into a grimace. Despite the discomfort, Alastor had grown to appreciate their companionship, and Angel had proven himself to be tough and loyal colleague more than once.

The little moth demon however… Vaggie would take pleasure in his suffering, Alastor was sure. It didn’t matter that the last expression Alastor had seen on her face had been horror as he fell, the gunshot still ringing loudly in his head. Ears flicking lower, he decided not to pursue that train of thought.

Dear Husker certainly wouldn’t care! Alastor could and would ignore the memory of absolute fury in the chimera’s eyes as a boot pressed into Alastor’s chest – right on the bullet hole! – setting fire to his lungs and sending blood bubbling up his throat. It didn’t mean a thing!

Now, Niffty… Alastor’s smile wavered, shrinking as small as its been in a while. He knew the little darling cared. He couldn’t even pretend otherwise; Especially not after she’d been screaming and crying the loudest. He remembered through blurry vision and smoky, blood clogged air that tears had been streaming down her face, all the while she screeched and clawed to get away from Husk who’d held her back. She would only have gotten herself hurt, and so Alastor felt grateful to the cat for stopping her.

Charlie… she was crying as well, but she also had fire in her eyes and horns bursting from her skull. She and Angel Dust – Alastor had never seen the porn star look so serious – had immediately moved to help him, hellfire wreathed around the princess like a halo and Angel brandishing six more guns than he’d held a second ago.

Of course, it hadn’t made a difference in the end. Alastor had still looked up, directly into the grinning screen of Vox, and saw nothing but triumph in his rival’s expression. The overlord had probably said something snarky, but Alastor couldn’t hear over the roaring in his ears. Instead he offered his widest grin and spit a glob of red at the other’s shoe.

A grimace graced the TV demon’s face, and the pressure doubled on Alastor’s chest, forcing out a pained gurgle as liquid filled his lungs – his lungs, his chest, parts of him that weren’t healing, they were burning, because of course Vox would have a holy weapon, and Alastor was an idiot for getting distracted and actually caring about the hotel and the people in it-

One hand clung to Vox’s leg while the other clawed at the ground for his microphone – where was it – or for any dregs of magic to finish this fight the way it was supposed to end, but there. was. nothing.

He tilted his head back and the others appeared upside down in his vision for a brief moment. He widened his grin in what he hoped was a reassuring manner – though from the few terrified expressions that remained, he didn’t think it worked very well.

Angel Dust unleashed clip after clip of bullets into the surrounding demons, struggling to get to the TV overlord and put a bullet through his screen, to do something, anything, but Alastor didn’t get to dwell on the lack of progress for long.

Cold steel brushed his hair aside, pressing against the red x on his forehead, and the deer demon’s eyes jerked forward again to stare down the barrel of the holy gun. If his heart was pounding faster at the idea of dying in a way similar to his human self, he was glad Vox was too busy gloating to notice. If he listened hard enough, Alastor worried he might even hear dogs baying in the distance.

“Well,” Vox sneered, voice resonating louder than the ringing in Alastor’s skull, “it’s really no surprise that things turned out this way. I think we both knew I’d win in the end. You’re obsolete; old news.” His sneer curled up into a wider grin as he pulled the hammer back with a click. Alastor heard screams of protest. “You always did manage to get on my nerves, even before you decided you were too good for me.” Liar. “Anyways… hope you enjoy your time in the Void, Al!” Alastor watched his finger tighten on the trigger, unable to move, until his world exploded in deafening noise, blinding white light, and unimaginable pain. Then everything stopped.

Darkness.

Silence.

Pain where it wasn’t supposed to be.

His chest, he knew, would feel like it was on fire, but he didn’t think his arms were supposed to burn or his stomach feel like it was caving in or his heart feel like it was exploding out of his ribcage. Why did he have to die in the most violent ways? He was dying, wasn’t he? That’s what this had to be- he was dying all over again- because his lungs weren’t filled with liquid, but he couldn’t breathe, his head wasn’t bleeding from a bullet wound and yet his skull was filled with cotton, and his face was wet with something that was salty, that wasn’t sticky like blood.

Alastor’s eyes were wide open, but he couldn’t see anything, why couldn’t he see, what was wrong with him- his feverish gaze dragged itself down and hardly registered the crimson on crimson, the crimson on black, the blood dotting the ground around him, staining the void with brief flashes of color. His nose crinkled at the intense smell of iron pervading the air. His ears flattened against his head in an attempt to rid himself of the sound of nothing, then of ragged gasps that it took too long to realize were coming from him.

A sharp twinge in his arm directed his disjointed attention back down, where he paled at the sight of his claws buried deep in the limbs. Punctures and gashes littered the entirety of his arms, likely the source of the crimson pooling beneath his trembling frame, and his skin was utterly ravaged at the unintended self-abuse. He yanked his claws out, – he didn’t whimper – and fixed them around his stomach. He still couldn’t breathe.

He tried to take a deeper breath, but his lungs weren’t taking in air right.

Force the air out. He couldn’t die again, could he?

Take it in. He was already dead; he couldn’t die again.

O-out. He wouldn’t die, but his chest hurt so much.

I-In- in. He needed to calm down.

O-Out. He would be fine, he just needed to calm down.

In. All he had to do was release the vice-like grip he had on himself.

Out. Slowly, bit by bit, his muscles untensed.

In. His spine uncurled; his arms relaxed.

Like a wire snapping the tension fled Alastor’s body, letting him go limp. He could’ve cried at the deep breath that forced sweet sweet air into his lungs. He lay there for an undetermined amount of time, just breathing until the ache in his chest subsided to a tolerable level, praying he didn’t suddenly forget how to breathe again. He hated feeling like a prisoner to his own body whenever this happened, and he still had no Lucifer-forsaken idea what ‘this’ even was.

The deer demon didn’t get to dwell on his racing thoughts long as exhaustion slammed back into him, pressing him further into the ground and turning his limbs to iron. He blinked half-lidded eyes, struggling to keep them open. Finally loosening the death grip on his arms, his claws fell limp to the ground while he curled up tighter.

Okay. Perhaps lying wasn’t the best thing to do to himself, considering his… less than ample mental state. Despite the fact that there was no one to be confident for, he didn’t let his smile falter, keeping it determinedly in place if not as small as it could be.

Maybe he was ready to concede that the others at the hotel had cared about him entirely. Had really cared, unlike his father who he hope would have a worse existence in Hell than him, or Vox who had happily put a knife in his back more than once. Letting his eyes finally slide shut, ignoring the tears streaming down his face, Alastor ran his tongue over his lips to taste the salt and winced even at that. Not being able to eat was really beginning to affect his tolerance for anything that had the slightest taste. He was from Louisiana, where everything had flavor and spice and now, he wouldn’t ever be able to enjoy that again.

Alastor found himself crying more and more frequently, and he hated it, but there wasn’t anything he could do about these ridiculous, unwanted emotions. He couldn’t stop his heart from aching when thoughts of Charlie’s beaming acceptance forced their way into his mind. Thoughts of Vaggie’s fiery protectiveness, Husk’s begrudging companionship, Niffty’s utter adoration, Angel’s fierce loyalty. What was the point of this? Was he supposed to feel bad for the things he’d done? Was he supposed to repent for his sins here?

It isn’t fair, he thought, even as another sob burst unbidden from between his clenched teeth. Even if Alastor was sorry, he couldn’t do a thing about it. His hands shifted to grab at his ears and pulled until the ache travelled into his skull. He was just so tired. So hungry. So weak.

How pathetic was he, falling apart at the slightest hint of loneliness? At the ravenous feeling tearing him apart? At one point would’ve argued that he was better than this, but the last few moments made it clear that he wasn’t. His skin was too tight, pulled taut over his ribs, over his protruding spine. Every bone poked out and he could feel it. Even his shirt was beginning to hang over his already lanky frame. It was nothing compared to the cavern in his stomach or the throbbing in his heart, but he wouldn’t be enjoying the rest of his eternity alone.

The only relief to be had was that Alastor might be drained enough to sleep instead of thinking until his head hurt more than it already did. With a quieter huff he scrubbed away the offending tears and brought his hands back down to curl against his chest. His coat would have made him more comfortable, but he’d lost it… quite a while ago.

It didn’t matter, he hummed, forcing his breaths to even out and pushing the pain to the back of his mind. Sleep wouldn’t be better, exactly – he always woke up looking like a deer in the headlights – but he might at least have a clearer head.

The static within him finally settled to a softer, soothing white noise. Alastor let a sigh of relief escape as his thoughts quieted with it, and he was unconscious in a matter of seconds.

When Alastor awoke, it wasn’t sudden or with a humiliating cry threatening to break free. His mind was sluggish, and his limbs were slow to respond so he could assume his sleep had been interrupted, but that was ridiculous considering there was nothing here to interrupt it! He shifted to sit up, a twinge from his arms jolting him into a more wakeful state. Letting out a soft groan at the more insistent ache from his chest, he sat upright, still feeling exceptionally confused.

“What in the nine circles,” he grumbled, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Alastor had been sure he was exhausted enough to sleep without disruptions for once in his time in the Void, so what could possibly have woken him up?

He knew he was more sensitive and aware of his surroundings, but why would something different be happening now? Claws shifted to grip at his arms as his ears perked and swiveled, though he wasn’t expecting to hear anything besides the familiar silence that staled the air-

“Alastor?!”

His whole body jerked, ears flattening against his head as he scrambled to turn around. Alastor’s breathing stuttered. It felt like a punch knocked the air from his lungs when he turned around and locked eyes with the last demon he’d expected to see.

“…what happened to you…?”

41 notes · View notes

interstellarflowers · 5 years

Text

peter parker x reader | special

a/n This is a Peter Parker fanfic. Yup. Sorry in advance if it appears a little underdeveloped but it’s supposed to be since it’s just a one-shot, thinking of writing a series maybe soon? I don’t know, I hope you guys like this anyways.

t/w this is a sad one.

Peter Parker. How would you begin to describe Peter Parker? Intelligent for sure, kind, thoughtful, funny…Charming, absolutely adorable. Were you in love with him? Maybe a little bit. Just a little. Would you ever tell him? No, absolutely not. Peter Parker was like an enigma, sure maybe he seemed like your typical everyday guy, but you knew something others didn’t. You knew he was special. Peter Parker was more than Lego Death Stars, an intern at Stark industries, and a mathlete. Peter Parker was just, more. You weren’t quite sure what it was yet, but you knew he was special. Peter Parker was more than Peter Parker, you knew it, you just didn’t know what it was yet.

Peter Parker sits next to you in two of your classes and sits at the same lunch table as you. A true blessing. Peter turns to you taking you out of your mind,

“(y/n), wake up.” He jokingly shakes your shoulder.

“Peter, stop,” you whine, “I didn’t get to sleep last night.” Peter rolls his eyes playfully at you.

“Well, why is that?”

“Calculus.” you groan.

“I told you to call me if you needed any help!” Peter exclaims, “I cannot believe you! You could’ve slept at least three hours!”

“I’m a hopeless case,” you mutter, “didn’t want to bother you.” Peter frowns at you and then returns back to typing notes.

The truth was, that you couldn’t bring yourself to call or even text Peter. You’ve had his number since freshman year and had only ever texted him twice. Once when you were planning to go to a movie with him, Ned and a few other members of the mathletes and he was five minutes late so you texted him to ask where he was. Then there was one other time, the time that you were going to make your move, do something, anything, and then ended up asking what the English homework was. You were truly a hopeless case. Periods go by and you and Peter make light conversation when you see each other and then bid each other goodbye and to have a nice weekend before parting ways to walk home.

The second you get home you plop down on your bed and begin to think of ways to put off your weekend assignments, and decided to browse the internet to temporarily escape the inevitable. Anything to put off your calculus assignment. Hours go by, and before you know it it’s 11 o’clock at night. Then there’s a familiar tapping on your window, and your favorite superhero climbs through groaning.

“(y/n)!”

“Spidey!”

“I told you not to call me that.” His mask shifts into something that was presumably a frown.

“Why not?” You whine, shooting him a playful sad expression.

“Because! I’m Spiderman, I’m a man, (y/n)!”

“No, you’re not you’re a boy.” You tease as his mask shifts into even more of a frown.

“I so regret sharing my age with you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” He takes a seat next to you on your bed.

Spiderman. How would you begin to describe Spiderman? Well for starters he was funny, selfless, sweet, charming, probably handsome. To be blunt he made your heart melt. You and Spiderman met one day as he was patrolling the city, you couldn’t help but notice that he seemed bored so you decided to invite the local hero over for some lemonade maybe some shade as it was a hot summers day and you were certain spandex didn’t help with heat. To your surprise, he agreed to and before you knew it you and Spiderman were hitting it off on your fire escape. That was a year ago. Now you and Spiderman frequently meet, and much has changed. It all started three months ago when Spiderman came in through your window bleeding and needed some patching up. One thing led to another and before you knew, Spiderman’s mask was lifted up on the bottom and you were making out with Spiderman on your bed. As bizarre as the whole thing was you wouldn’t trade it for anything. You knew there was probably something a little problematic with having feelings for Peter Parker and Spiderman, but you also figured it would never matter anyways so who cares. One thing Peter Parker and Spiderman had in common, neither of them would ever fall in love with you.

So, you and Spiderman talked for a while until he deemed it as being too late and took his leave, kissing your cheek goodbye. Sure, you and Spiderman shared some…we’ll put it as intimacy, but of course, what it was was just what it was. No feelings attached, for him at least. Just something fun with someone he enjoyed the company of when nights were quiet. That was all.

The weekend went by far faster than you would have liked and before you knew it you were fighting sleep Sunday night as you struggled to finish up your last few calculus equations. You were totally convinced that calculus was the worse thing that had ever happened to you, that was until you saw the news. Your phone buzzed as you got a notification from your news app, you checked the screen and when you read what had happened you couldn’t believe it. Spiderman…hospitalized…injuries…gunshot wounds…It was too much to take in, you collapsed. Your brain shut down, your heart seemed to stop, and you couldn’t catch your breath no matter how hard you tried. Why? How?

“I-I uh, I have to…I have to go, I have to do something…” You mutter to yourself, still completely out of it as you get up and run. Where are you running? To the subway of course. You need to get to Spiderman. Getting to the hospital was easy, convincing the lady at the desk that you were his family was easy, it had all felt like a sick nightmare. Up until this point. What wasn’t easy was the harsh reality that just past this door Spiderman was fighting for his life. The nurse explained to you hurriedly as you powered to his door that the doctors had taken the bullets out and that he was stabilized, for the time being, but there was still a chance that these gunshots would be fatal. You didn’t like that there was a chance. You didn’t like it one bit. Swallowing hard, you pushed the door open and went into the room where Spiderman was lying, beaten, worn out, tired, possibly dying. You sat by his side and looked at his mask, wrecked in a few places, the rest of his suit gone.

“You always keep that thing on?” You ask jokingly trying to appear fine for his sake. He coughs.

“Sure do, you always sneak into people’s hospital rooms?”

“It wasn’t that hard.” You both sit in silence for a few minutes, just taking in the other’s presence.

“You know, you didn’t have to come,” he pauses to cough and grab his side in agony, “You weren’t supposed to see me like this…” You hear him silently choke back tears and the eyes on his suit shut.

“I did have to come. I needed to see you.” The eyes on his suit open again. They look contemplative, well as contemplative as his mask can look.

“I’m going to do something.”

“Okay…” You say slowly, already knowing what was about to happen, but not quite prepared.

“Can you please…” He nods his head a little, and you know what he wants you to do.

“Are you, are you certain? When you get out of this, are you sure you want me to know?”

The eyes on his mask close again and he shakes his head a little. You knew what that meant, you knew what he was thinking. He was silently saying that he didn’t think there would be a getting out of this.

“No, I won’t,” you pause and choke on your sobs, “I can’t do it.” Spiderman nods his head to the side again, a silent plea for you to please take off the mask. To free him from this persona, to set him free, to allow him to exit as himself. Allow him to accept his ending as himself.

“I can’t do that…” you sob, breaking any hope you had for staying composed and calm for him, you can’t.

Spiderman’s mask gives you a look that could only be described as disappointed and he goes to speak but goes into a fit of coughing. At this moment you look at him, really look at him. There was a lot of him. He was more than just his suit. More than just blue and red spandex. There was so much more to Spiderman, so much more you may never even get to know. Spiderman was just more to you. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him and squeeze his hand so tight that your knuckles turn white, you don’t want to let go, you can’t let go of him.

“I’m sorry (y/n).”

Then that’s it. He’s gone. Too soon, too quickly. People are rushing into the room and pushing you out. It’s too fast, it all happened too quickly. Your vision blurry, the nightmare has returned. You’re screaming, but you can’t even hear yourself, all you can hear is a deafening silence. The deafening scream of a world without Spiderman.

“I didn’t even get to know you,” you whisper in between screams as doctors usher you out of the room, “Wait for me, please.”

Please don’t leave without me, at least let me come with you.

“Local hero Spiderman dies from fatal gunshot wounds. The hero unmasked to be Peter Parker, a local high school student, and nephew of May Parker…”

You shut the news off, you can’t hear it again.

The second the doctors rushed you out of the room, they came out to the lobby where you sat hyperventilating and trying to see straight.

“I’m sorry ma'am, I’m afraid we’ve lost Peter. There’s nothing we can do,” the doctor gave you a sad look now having taken off the mask they had identification and they knew who the hero was, they knew how young he was. They knew before you.

“Does he have any other family besides May Parker? We contacted her but that was all we could find, do you know anyone else?”

“Uh, um,” you can’t breathe you can’t do it, you cannot believe what you’re hearing, you won’t believe it you will not accept this, “I’ve gotta go,” you mumble and sprint out of the dreaded building.

You now sat at home as news outlets began to report on what had happened. Everything is so unfair. Spiderman died. That’s unfair. A 16-year-old selfless hero died. That’s unfair. Most importantly though, Peter Parker died, and that is just the worst atrocity the universe could ever commit.

He was a lot of things. Intelligent for sure, kind, thoughtful, funny, charming, absolutely adorable, selfless, sweet, definitely handsome…Most importantly though. He was special. Spiderman was special because he was Peter Parker.

137 notes · View notes

lovelyparkers · 4 years

Text

lifeline - introduction

warnings: allusions to sexy times lol, some spice but nothing explicit, hospitals, mentions of blood/wounds, peter calling you sweets a lot (read the teaser in my imagines book first!) 2k words

at exactly 5 am, your alarm blared, waking you up with a groan. early shifts were not your forte. you hit the button on your phone and rolled over into peter who was lightly snoring, mouth open a little.

you pressed up against his bare back, considering last nights escapades, and wrapped an arm around him to wake you up. peter always insisted that you wake him up before you leave for a shift so he could give you a kiss and maybe eat a quick breakfast for you. sometimes he would go back to sleep for awhile before leaving for his job. peter worked at the daily bugle doing photography while also maintaining a deli counter job at the bodega he frequented as a high school student. both jobs were great for him, he had fun, made extra money, and afterwards he could do his favorite job of all—being spider-man.

"pete," you whispered, "good morning."

he rolled over in your arms to face you, "mmm good morning sweets. i love you."

he rubbed his eyes so he could see you clearly, skin still glowing from last night and he gave you a quick peck on the lips.

"i love you pete."

he placed his head on your chest and closed his eyes again mumbling, "you're so pretty."

you blushed. you've been together for over ten years and he still had that affect on you.

"wanna have breakfast?"

"yes, please," he yawned.

you got out of bed, wearing nothing but underwear, reaching for your robe. peter whistled, watching you put your robe on.

you laughed, "no, nuh uh. don't start this. i have to leave for work in 40 minutes!"

peter grinned, "k."

you walked to the kitchen and starting making some eggs and toast, a quick little meal before you got ready for the day. when you finished cooking peter finally joined you in the kitchen, wearing his boxers and an MIT t-shirt.

"smells so good y/n."

he got out plates and two cups of water for the little kitchen table while you brought the food over, giving peter more because this boy had a big appetite.

"you're such a good cook, how?"

"you tell me that like everyday ya know."

"but it's true! how do you cook so good?"

you got up, cleaning the pan, "i don't know...practice, i guess."

"well i guess i need to practice more after that god awful pasta i made last night."

"pete, it wasn't awful."

"yes it was dont lie to me. it was bad."

you thought for a second, staring at him, "okay well you did overcook the pasta—"

"see! bad!"

"it's okay. you'll learn."

"i don't know, i think it's in my genes."

you laughed and headed to the bathroom to shower and finish getting ready. peter organized all your things for the day by the front door so you could head out right away. he grabbed your white coat, sitting on the couch watching the news waiting for you to come to the front door. at exactly 5:40 am you walked down the hallway, shoes clicking against the hardwood floor.

"okay babe, i'm gonna head out," you walked over to him by the couch before he stood up, smiling at you and holding up your white coat to guide onto your body.

"there you go doctor," he said after helping you put on the coat. you grabbed your bags and fixed your hair one last time in the hall mirror.

"thank you, as always."

you walked back over to him to give him a tight hug. he pulled back and gave you a nice long kiss, knowing you wouldn't be home till around 6 pm.

"go save some lives sweets."

you smiled, "i will. you too!"

he smiled. the two of you saving lives daily, working hard, and loving each other.

———————

you walked onto your floor for the day setting your things in your locker and meeting up with your interns for the day. you quizzed them on questions, answered their questions, and gave them assignments.

"dr. y/l/n?"

"yes?"

carly, one of your interns, perhaps a favorite but you would never say that, called your name.

"what's my assignment today? you didn't give me one."

you waited until your interns left the area before answering carly.

"you are going to be working with me in emergency surgery."

emergency surgery was great practice for when a surgeon had to be quick and precise, even under pressure and time restraint.

"oh, really?"

"yes, i think you're ready first."

carly was extremely smart and disciplined. she graduated top of her class from boston medical school. she was very efficient. and she was like a sister to you, since you lost natasha.

after successfully performing an appendectomy that morning along with carly, you sent her on a break and went to have lunch on your ward you were working on this afternoon. you always sat out on the deck.

fortunate to peter, he knew this was your favorite spot. he came to have lunch with you every so often. and today, he happened to swing by—literally.

you were going through some paperwork and eating a hospital cafeteria salad when a big gust of wind came by. and so did peter. he was swinging in the vicinity of the hospital to get your attention and he sure did.

when you noticed the red and blue hero, your peter, you smiled and waved. he was adorable and you loved that. it made your day. he did little poses while in the air, making you laugh, before swinging off after a few minutes. then peter swung over to the pediatric wing of the hospital and stuck to the windows, crawling around and waving to all the kids.

peter's heart was truly kind. he loved so many people and did so many good things. but a lot of the time, good things rarely happened to him as a hero. he got beat, scratched, shot...you name it. all for what? to protect people? exactly that. he put others first before himself, always. especially you.

——————————

unusually, you arrived at your apartment before peter. your shift ended early and he was still patrolling, giving you a quick call to let you know he would be home late. you decided to relax on the couch after a long day of being up on your feet. in the afternoon there was an issue between two of your interns fighting over a surgery.

the thing is, when it comes to being a doctor, there's no arguing. you do what's right when your told or do what's right yourself. you were disappointed in them, to say the least. if they want to be surgeons, they have to focus on the patient, not themselves. self-flattery has no place in a hospital.

you clicked on an old sit com and watched, before drowsing off into a full sleep.

two and a half hours later, peter cane jumping in through the open window of your apartment, startling you awake. he landed messily on the floor, laying on his back not getting up.

you immediately jumped to his side, seeing the blood pooling onto the floor from his leg.

"peter! what happened?"

you already started to pull off your loose tee shirt, ripping it and tying it securely around his thigh to stop the bleeding. his tight suit should have helped stop it, but it didn't.

peter quickly pulled of his mask, hair a complete mess and brown eyes filled with tears, "i was- i was stabbed."

"what?"

"i was—"

"never mind! don't move, i will be right back."

you were prepared for situations like this. ever since junior year of high school, peter came to you when he got hurt, knowing you could take care of him. you learned plenty of first aid, living with the avengers and being taught by dr. helen cho. as well as having to patch up your sister after a battle.

you kept a first aid kit in your home of course, you were a doctor and lived with a superhero. you rushed to grab and and ran back to peter's side. the blood was staining the white wood floors as he groaned out.

"pete this one is bad. i gotta stitch you up okay. you're gonna be okay but i don't know if that's gonna heal itself."

he nodded.

"let's get you out of that suit," you said pressing the spider on his chest, the suit loosened and you pulled it down his body and off his injured leg after removing the mock tourniquet.

he had bruises all over his abdomen and chest, as well as a black eye. you always got really sad when he came home hurt. but you focused on taking care of him.

you cleaned up his wound, and gave him a few stitches to help it heal faster. he winced, he always did, not because it hurt that bad, but because it was you, and he got stressed when you had to take care of him because he didn't wanna put that on you. but you always took care of him no matter what.

after stitching him up and disinfecting his thigh again, you cleaned up the bloody area and washed your hands. peter was still laying on the floor, suit in a pile next to your fake plant. you knelt down on the ground next to him.

"pete?"

he cried out, "i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i know i said i'd be more careful but there was-i couldnt-it was just- you know."

you teared up, "peter, stop it's okay. you're fine, i've got you."

you rubbed up and down his arm to comfort him. in times like these he was extra vulnerable, he often had flashbacks to tony, thanos, beck, etc. it was a time he needed you most. you pulled him up into a sitting position to give him a long, tight hug. he cried into your shoulder, beat up and bruised.

"it's okay," you whispered, "i love you."

"i love you too," he sniffled out.

"c'mon, let's get you in bed."

you slowly and carefully helped him to his feet, letting him lean his uninjured side into the ground for balance while the other stayed limp—you being his support. you got him into bed on top of the covers and placed an old towel under his leg as well as taping extra gauze on top of the wound.

"thank you y/n."

"of course. i'm gonna bring you something to eat."

"n-no you don't have to you did enough al—"

"please, it will make you feel better."

"okay."

you brought his so heated up leftover pasta in a bowl. enough to make him heal but not so much he got sick from the blood loss. you put on the tv as he ate his pasta in bed. he grabbed and held your hand while the other held a fork.

when he was done you placed the bowl on the nightstand and cuddled into his side. he looked at you for a long while.

"what?" you asked when you notice him staring.

"i just really really am thankful. you always take care of me and never leave. i really love you."

"i love you too. i'd do anything for you peter."

he leaned over to you and captured your lips in a sweet and long kiss. moving your lips together in sync, slowly and lovingly. he placed a hand on your cheek to deepen it even more. eventually he tried to pull you in his lap, much to your dismay.

you groaned against his lips, "mmh no."

peter whined, "why sweets?"

"peter, you just got stabbed, c'mon you need to rest."

"fine," he pouted. he obviously had no limits whatsoever.

"let's go to sleep. and promis me you won't go out tomorrow?"

"okay," he said cuddling up with you, stroking your hair from the side, "i won't. i love you."

"i love you too."

you dozed off safely in each other's arms.

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today-we-will-survive · 5 years

Text

04. Run

A story based on the fictional HYYH world about six boys with unimaginable problems and their friend that can’t do anything to help.

Member: Taehyung

Genre: Angst

Warning: warnings are posted in the masterlist

Word Count: 3.4K

Parts can be found on my Masterlist under “The Most Beautiful Moment In Life”

A/N: New parts every Tuesday and Friday

Life began to get to each of us.

January.

December came like a quick intake of breath and went like a heavy sigh. Once the cozy feeling of the holidays was over, winter became harsh and merciless. An icy fist that squeezed and squeezed until there was no warmth left. Taehyung was used to it though. He’d never liked winter. Not since his mom had died just after Christmas his fifth year. Mina had been too young to remember her, being only three years old, but Taehyung could remember her perfectly still, as if he’d talked to her just the day before.

He and his sister used to stay up late a lot—at least whenever they were both home—curled up on their shared bed, facing each other, covered in two layers of clothes and three blankets because their father turned the heat way down whenever he wasn’t home, which was often. Not often enough though in Taehyung’s opinion. But they would lay like that for hours and Taehyung would tell Mina stories about their mother. He didn’t have many spectacular ones—being he really could only remember a few from such a young age—but once those ran out, she started asking him simpler things. What did mom look like? What did she smell like? What did she sound like? Feel like?

“She looked like spring, smelled like flowers, sounded like rain and felt like sunshine.” How else could he describe her? Maybe his memories were clouded by the happier life he’d lived with her in it but he’d rather have this version of her in his mind. He needed it. Needed something good to cling to.

The first time his father had hit him, he’d apologized profusely afterward, and made Taehyung promise he’d never tell a soul. He didn’t. And he didn’t the second and third time either or any time after that. He’d never told anyone, other than his friends and only because they grew suspicious of the bruises and the injuries and his unexpected late night calls asking if he could sleep over.

Over the years, he became good at reading the signs and predicting when his dad was going to have an outburst. If he got home from work and slammed the door behind him, it was time to retreat to the bedroom and bolt the door. If he came with a freshly bought bottle of alcohol, it was time to leave. Taehyung’s only reason for not moving out was Mina. He’d made a promise to her and himself that he’d always be there to protect her, even if that meant taking the brunt of the abuse himself. Which it always did.

He’d ended up in the hospital a few times keeping his dad away from his sister, stepping in the way of the punches, even tackling the man to the floor to give her a chance to run. It always ended badly but he never complained. Not when it would be so much worse for her. She didn’t deserve to live in fear like this. He didn’t either but especially not her. He at least had good memories of their mother. She only had the nightmares that came with having a monster for a father.

When things got too hard, his friends were his escape. Five of them had their own problems. And five of them had families that would get suspicious if he came around too often and he couldn’t risk anyone going to the police and tearing him away from his sister. The one person he could always count on to help and be his safe place was Namjoon.

The boy was an orphan living secretly at the gas station where he worked. Taehyung didn’t have to hide anything from him. In fact, there were countless times in the past where he’d show up at the gas station pounding on the door at two in the morning, broken and bleeding and Namjoon wouldn’t say anything. He would just let him inside and make room for him on the small twin blow-up mattress he dragged out of the broom closet every night. And if he was too worked up to sleep, the two would go out into the city and find something to do. This usually involved spray paint and a concrete wall. More than once the two found themselves running from police sirens, having been caught mid-tag. Namjoon wasn’t the best influence but he was what Taehyung needed.

“Take this,” the older boy said holding out a pint of ice cream to him.

Taehyung looked down at it. “I don’t feel like eating ice cream right now, hyung,” he uttered and swiped his tongue across the fresh cut on his lower lip. The taste of salt and iron grated against his tastebuds. His whole head hurt from the evening’s beating. He was ninety percent sure he had a concussion.

“For your lip,” Namjoon replied dropping it into his hand.

Taehyung winced when he touched the cold container to his wound but immediately started to feel the pain fade as his lip began to go numb.

“So, I overslept this morning,” Namjoon said as he grabbed a lollipop from the rack on the counter beside where Taehyung sat and unwrapped it.

“And?”

“And Mr. Bang-nim found me this morning.”

“Did he say anything about all this?” Taehyung asked gesturing toward the mattress on the linoleum floor.

“He said if he finds me sleeping here again, I’m fired.” Then he stuck the candy in his mouth and twirled the stick between his fingers.

Taehyung’s stomach dropped when he saw the unease written across his hyung’s face. The boy had nowhere to go. Taehyung would have invited Namjoon to stay with him but of course he’d never want to subject one of his friends to the hell he had to deal with every day. Though it didn’t matter either way. Namjoon didn’t like asking for help. He wanted to be the one his friends came to, not the other way around. The boy was independent and stubborn to a fault.

“I’ll just have to be more careful,” Namjoon said with a shrug. Of course he was only acting like it wasn’t a big deal. Taehyung knew better.

Light flooded the dim store as a vehicle pulled into the parking lot and Taehyung felt his heart skip at the idea they were going to be caught. But when he looked out through the storefront window, relief flooded his chest. Jin’s 4x4 truck sat idling in front of the gas pumps.

“How’d they—”

“I texted him a bit ago,” Namjoon interrupted, a gentle smile lifting his mouth and causing his cheeks to dimple.

Taehyung hopped off the counter and set the pint of ice cream down before making his way outside. Jin rolled the driver’s side window down, music pouring from inside the cab. The other boys’ voices rose above the singer’s vocals as they screamed along to the song.

“Long time no see,” Taehyung said slapping the oldest boy’s hand when he stuck it out the window.

Jin smiled. “It’s only been a week, Tae,” he said.

Taehyung shrugged. “A week is an eternity in this town.”

The smile on Jin’s face faltered for a second and Taehyung noticed his eyes trail down to the younger’s wounded lip. He quickly swiped his tongue across it to catch the remaining blood. “How’s Mina?”

“She’s fine,” Taehyung said. “At a sleepover.”

The oldest boy’s eyes lingered on his for several moments before he finally gave a small nod. “Hop in,” he said and motioned with his head toward the back of the truck.

Taehyung scrambled over the side and dropped into the bed beside Jimin, who sat with his back against the cab, happily cramming chips into his mouth from a bag. “Want some?” he asked as he offered the bag to him.

“No thanks,” Taehyung said and barely got settled beside his friend when the truck lurched forward and they pulled back out of the gas station.

It was pretty late and almost every food place was closed save for the all-night diner they frequented. There was nothing quality or good about the food there but it was cheap, and greasy and filled their bellies. The waitresses had come to grow fond of them over the years, knowing each of them by name and favorite flavor of milkshake.

The seven of them were the only ones there, which was a good thing since they tended to get a bit rowdy. Their plates had just barely been delivered when Yoongi decided he was going to try and cheer Taehyung up by throwing a handful of french fries at Jungkook. A food fight quickly broke out between the two and the poor waitress had to dodge away to keep from getting hit by a rogue fry.

They spent hours there, stuffing their faces and drowning their problems in ketchup and grease until finally, none of them could bring themselves to take one more bite. Then they made their way sleepily back to the truck, Taehyung flopping into the bed again, this time with Namjoon, and letting his head fall onto the older boy’s lap. The gentle rock of the truck as it made its way down the road and the streetlights that passed intermittently overhead made his eyelids droop dangerously low. He probably shouldn’t fall asleep if he really did have a concussion, but the sound of the engine, the warmth of Namjoon’s thigh pressed against his cheek and the comfortable weight of food in his belly made it impossible for him to keep his eyes open and soon he drifted off completely.

Taehyung woke to the strong smell of coffee wafting into his nostrils and he opened his eyes to a chipped ceramic mug inches from his face. Jimin smiled warmly from the other side. It took Taehyung a few seconds to figure out where he was and why his body was aching so bad until he shifted and realized he’d slept all night in Yoongi’s bathtub.

“You know I don’t like coffee,” he uttered, batting his friend’s hand away.

“It woke you up, though, didn’t it?” Jimin asked. His voice was much too cheerful for this time of morning. What time was it anyway?

Taehyung raked his hand through his greasy hair. “How long have I been out?”

“It’s almost noon. You should eat something, Tae,” Jimin said and offered his hand to help the boy climb out of the tub.

Panic rushed through him like ice water. “Noon?” he asked. “I need to get home. I need to be there when Mina gets back from her sleepover.” He tripped out of the bathroom and through the living room, past the other boys crowded around a table as Jin tried to build a house with a deck of cards.

“You’re up!” Jungkook exclaimed throwing his arms up.

“JK!” Jin yelled, his hands frozen in midair. “Stop with the sudden movements!”

“I gotta go,” Taehyung said as he rushed past. The gust of wind he created caused Jin’s card house to collapse and he let out a heavy sigh.

Taehyung didn’t stop though. As soon as he was out of Yoongi’s home, he broke into a run and kept running until he burst through the front door of his apartment. His eyes scanned the empty front room. Liquor and beer bottles littered the kitchen counters, junk mail piled high on the table and scattered on the floor around it. The place was a dump but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. The quiet, however, was. He barely took a step when a whimper cut through the silence and then suddenly he was running again. He paused in the hallway, eyes on the shadows moving in the room at the end. The door was barely cracked open so he couldn’t see who was in there. But then he heard a choked cry. Mina.

Taehyung flew back out of the hall and wrapped a fist around the first thing he could grab, a beer bottle, then charged back down the hall, bursting into the bedroom just as his father’s hand connected with his sister’s cheek.

“Don’t touch her!” Taehyung roared shoving him back hard.

His dad stumbled back more in surprise than pain and he stared at the boy with wild, glazed over eyes. The man reeked of alcohol even at this early hour of the day. He bared his teeth and looked like he was about to lunge. But Taehyung didn’t give him the chance. He rushed forward instead, swinging the beer bottle back and sending it crashing down on his dad’s skull. The man staggered again, this time stunned by the blow. The bottle had broken when it came in contact with his head.

Taehyung could have stopped there. He could have grabbed his sister and turned and ran, maybe taken her back to Yoongi’s. The other boys would be able to help them. But no, the sight of his dad striking her had caused the time bomb within him to finally detonate and now he knew nothing but rage. With a scream that sounded too far away to be coming from his own lungs, Taehyung surged forward again, jabbing the broken bottle into the soft flesh of his father’s stomach. He felt it lodge deep in the man’s belly and a sickening groan fell from his father’s lips but it did nothing to keep Taehyung from stabbing him again and again until blood soaked the front of the man’s t-shirt and coated his own hands and clothes.

In the chaos, he couldn’t hear anything but his own gasping breath and the cries that continued to tumble from the man in front of him until his dad finally collapsed to the floor. Then his sister’s screams reached his ears, her voice already going hoarse from yelling for so long. With a violent shudder, Taehyung staggered back, letting the broken and bloodied bottle fall from his hand and clatter to the floor. His mouth fell open in a silent scream and his knees gave out. As he fell to the floor, his sister caught him, sobbing into his ear.

“What have I done?” Taehyung uttered. “What have I done, Mina? What have I done?”

“You saved me, Tae,” she cried into his neck. “You saved us.”

Their father lay motionless in front of them, the red spreading across his shirt until you could no longer tell what color it had been originally. It seeped down into the carpet, a dark stain that would never fully go away.

“You have to leave, Mina,” Taehyung said, his voice shaking so hard it came out as barely a whisper.

“No, Tae,” she cracked. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to.” He grabbed her hard by the shoulders and pulled her down in front of him. His eyes drilled into hers. She had their mother’s eyes. “You have to get somewhere safe. I can’t come with you.”

“But you have—”

“Our dad is dead!” Taehyung screamed. “Our dad is dead and I killed him!”

A whimper fell from Mina’s mouth and for the first time, Taehyung noticed the bruises welling up under he skin. There were so many. How long had their dad been hitting her before he’d gotten there?

“Please, Mina,” he said more gently. “Please, go to a friend’s house. Tell them dad isn’t here and neither am I and you don’t know where either of us are. Please. I’ll come for you when it’s safe. But until then, you have to go.”

Mina nodded, her head jerking up and down erratically as she tried and failed to keep whatever last bit of composure she had. Then suddenly, she fell against him, a wail tearing from her throat and he clutched her to his chest, tears streaming down his own cheeks. His hands were coated still in his father’s blood and he raked his fingers through his sister’s hair, holding onto her, pulling her closer, smelling her, feeling her against him. Who knew if he’d ever see her again?

Mina changed her clothes and washed the blood out of her hair from when Taehyung had held her, before rushing out of the apartment. He didn’t go outside but watched her from the front window. She’d texted a friend and asked them to pick her up and now he watched as she got into their car, her head lifting, her eyes locking on his one last time before she climbed into the the backseat and then she was gone.

He didn’t know what to do. That moment of clarity when he’d needed to get his sister away was gone and now all he could do was stare at the messy living room in shock. With his back pressed against the door, he sank down onto the carpet, his hands catching him as he fell. His hands. Covered in sticky, drying blood. His father’s blood. He killed his father. He was a murderer.

A murderer.

His head began to pound as the thoughts swirled in his brain. It was all too much. Everything was too much. The coppery smell of blood filled his nose, filled his head, filled the room and it overwhelmed him. His hands shook and his breath hitched and he couldn’t inhale deep enough. Too much. He killed his father. He was a murderer.

His eyes watered and his nerves were shot and he was numb but could feel everything at the same time and it was overwhelming. His skin crawled and his heart hammered and his lungs were on fire and he couldn’t breathe and he squeezed his eyes shut as if he could shut out the world and it was all too much. He killed his father. He was a murderer.

A murderer.

When he opened his eyes again, it was dark. He didn’t know if he’d fallen asleep or passed out but when his gaze fell on the digital clock on the microwave, he saw that he’d been out for nearly nine hours.

It was silent in the apartment. Silent as the dead. His head slumped to the side and he looked at the entrance to the hallway. His father was back there. Or rather, his body. If he crawled just six feet to his left, he’d be able to peer down the hall and see his dad’s body slumped against the wall in the back bedroom. Immediately, Taehyung felt like he was going to be sick. He made his way clumsily to his feet and tripped into the kitchen, barely making it to the sink before he heaved and the contents of his stomach emptied into the basin. He spit a few times before sitting up again, a sheen of sweat coating his skin. When he brought his arm up to wipe his forehead, his eyes locked on the brown, dried blood that crusted on his skin. Then he looked down again at his white t-shirt. Well, it used to be white.

He rushed out of the kitchen, turning his head away as he passed the hall so he wouldn’t accidentally catch a glimpse of what was at the other end, then slipped out the front door, locking it behind him. He zipped his jacket up to his chin, glad that at least the dark sweatshirt hid the stains, and pulled the hood up over his hair and his sleeves down over his hands. He kept his head down to conceal any blood spatters on his face as he made his way through the dark streets and to the gas station.

To his relief, there were no cars there, but then another thought occurred to him. What if Namjoon wasn’t there either? What if he’d been caught again by his boss? He had to be there. Taehyung didn’t have anyone else to turn to.

He jogged up to the front door and peered in. The place was dark. It looked deserted. As the panic started to set in, he raised his fist and beat it against the glass. At last, he caught movement from within. And then Namjoon appeared in one of the aisles toward the back. He seemed to recognize who it was immediately and hurried over. A lollipop stick stuck out of his mouth and he switched it from one corner to the other in a nervous habit as he unlocked the door and opened it. Only then did he notice that Taehyung was covered in blood. Slowly, he lifted a hand and pulled the candy out of his mouth.

Taehyung’s breath quivered as he met the older boy’s eyes. “I did something really bad, hyung.”

#bts #bangtan #bangtan bookclub #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts series #bts au #bts angst #fanfiction #fanfic #bts taehyung #bts v #kim taehyung #kpop #kpop fanfic #the most beautiful moment in life #bts hyyh #angst

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i-am-church-the-cat · 5 years

Text

Chapter 4: Maybe It’s Love

My name’s @i-am-church-the-cat and this is my fanfic, and all other fanfics...are just as good in their own right and should be respected as such *air horn blasts*

——

Jonah and Walker had pretty much mastered the art of hiding from mortals. The two boys had both had many failed relationships, neither of them catching a break. Eros had turned Walker first, but it wasn’t more than a century later that Jonah had been recruited. Walker had been Jonah’s mentor in all the messing-with-people’s-love-lives thing. They were both cautious in the beginning but after some arguments, two loud confessions, and lots of tears, they had found someone to entrust their hearts to. They didn’t really like messing with people, but something told them that this time was special. It was their friend, Cyrus, after all!

Cyrus had been working for Apollo for a little over a century when the couple had met him and his two friends. They had seemed nice, but it took a while before Buffy trusted that the to boys weren’t going to mess with their love lives, and the promised they wouldn’t! But when Walker and Jonah had seen the interaction between their friend and the handsome prince, they took it upon themselves to be the matchmakers.

So that’s why they were following the four heroes at a distance, swerving in and out of trees to keep from being seen by the younger god. It was difficult to maneuver their large wings in the dense forest, but Jonah thought he was doing a pretty good-

SNAP!

Cyrus’ head snapped around, searching for the producer of the loud sound. After a moment, he and his companions resumed their trek through the woods. Behind the wide trunks, Walker was holding Jonah to his body, pressing his wings down as he kept both of them aloft. When Walker was sure the party had gone far enough away, he let go of his boyfriend and setting them both softly on the ground. Walker looked at the younger boy and folded his wings away.

“Come on”, the older said. “Let’s walk. Don’t want to snap off another tree branch.”

“How was I supposed to know that the branch was going to be there”, Jonah grumbled, though he was given away by the small smile on his face.

Walker laughed and gave his boyfriend a quick peck on the nose. “Come on. We got to catch up.”

Cyrus was worried. He knew he could be unlucky, but if Eros or one of his agents got involved, then he had pissed off the wrong god.

When he had seen a flash of white feathers out of the corner of his eye, he likened it to a bird or paranoia.

But when he had heard that tree branch break, he knew that he was-

“Hey”, a voice said, breaking Cyrus out of his thoughts. The god turned to look at his companion, the prince smiling brightly. Cyrus promptly forgot what he was thinking about.

“Hey”, Cyrus replied, returning his smile. TJ seemed to glow. “What’s up?”

The golden-haired boy shrugged. “You seemed tense. Is everything all right?”

“Oh”, Cyrus said, surprised at the concern in TJ’s voice. “Well, the situation isn't great, but we’re fixing the problem quickly, so I say things are pretty good.”

The prince nodded in agreement. “You know, there is one good thing about all this”, TJ noted after a moment.

“Oh yeah?”

“I got to meet you”, TJ said, flashing another heart-stopping grin.

Cyrus couldn’t help the blush that dusted his cheeks as he turned back to the path in front of us. Cyrus still hated how flustered he got around cute guys, especially ones who were flirting with him. That was something that hadn’t changed once he had become a god. Cyrus was about to risk another glance at the gorgeous boy next to him when Amber and Marty came riding up beside them.

“So, Cyrus. How did you end up working for Apollo?”, Marty asked.

“Well, he was walking through my village, disguised as an old man, when I offered to feed him. He ate all my food and on a whim, turned my friends and I into gods. My friend Buffy joined the Hunters after meeting Lady Artemis, and my other friend Andi became the handmaiden to Lady Persephone.”

“And Apollo just, what? Claimed you?”, Amber asked.

“Pretty much.”

“What’s it like?”, TJ asked. “Working for the sun god?”

“Well”, Cyrus began, wondering why he was so open to talking to people he just met. Maybe it was the kinship of all being in the same prophecy. “It’s pretty cool honestly. Apollo’s usually off chasing after pretty men and women, or arguing with another god, or getting into some other form of mischief. Mostly, I just watch over humanity and take care of the Oracle, though I have a bunch of other smaller tasks.”

“Watch over the Oracle?”, Amber asked, hesitantly.

“Yeah”, Cyrus said softly, knowing this was a sore spot for her. “I take care of the Oracle when their transitioning and I’m usually there until they start taking people’s questions regularly, just to help them settle in. I’ve been the personal helper of all the Oracles for the last three hundred years.”

“How did you get that job?”

“Well, I’ve found I’m pretty good at taking care of people and advising them. The person who did it before me was glad to give it up because they had responsibilities of their own domain, while my powers are just a subunit of Apollo’s, you could say. Plus, people trust me”, Cyrus explained, proud of the honor he had. And if the last sentence was a barb at some people who might’ve been flying around trying to mettle, well, that was up to him.

—

“I did it once and it just sort...stuck”, Cyrus finished with a shrug.

Marty looked at the young god. He appeared younger than them, but he talked with the wisdom brought about by many lifetimes. Though, that seemed more like his personality than the fact that he was over three hundred years old.

Marty has never really trusted gods. Sure, they were okay, but they treated humanity the way humanity treated sheep. Something to be watched and used and sometimes used to play tricks on. He didn’t enjoy it. But Cyrus seemed like one of the better ones, and by the way TJ had talked about him, Marty could tell that the minor his already had his prince’s trust. Now this was a hard thing to accomplish. It took Marty nearly five years of fighting beside TJ to get where they were today.

Marty had been left at the palace guard station when he was two. He had been taken in by the master of the guard and her wife. Marty had seen people doubt the capabilities of his adopted mother as the captain, but Marty had learned quickly that a woman can defeat someone in a fight just as well as a man can. Sometimes even better. And the fact that she was a woman married to a woman didn’t seem to matter to the king either.

Being the adopted son of the captain of the guard meant that he was always getting into fights with the other boys in the yard. He didn’t mind a brawl, but Marty had learned how to dodge and get out of one, which was sometimes the better option. He had soon became the fastest one out there, both in running speed and the speed in which he handled his sword.

Marty had met TJ when he was sixteen. Yeah, he had seen the prince around and at feasts sometimes, but they’d never been formally introduced or anything like that. Marty had thought he was a pompous arrogant loudmouth, and he pretended to be on the surface, but it wasn’t long before Marty saw the real him, the side of himself he tried to hide away. In the beginning, it only came out when they would duel against each other, but as their missions together became more frequent and the time they spent together not training grew longer, TJ started to let Marty in more.

Now, here they were six years later, on a quest with a light god and two more expected to arrive. They were going into what may be their last battle, and TJ had trusted Marty to come along and protect him and his sister. A far cry from the two boys who had punched it out in the courtyard a year after they met.

“Hey”, TJ called out, kicking at Marty’s ankle to break him out of his reverie. He raised his eyebrows, a silent question in his eyes. Marty nodded and showed a reassuring smile. TJ still seemed a little unsure, but he turned forward where Amber and Cyrus were talking quietly in front of them. They seemed to be deep into their conversation. Marty hoped Cyrus could help the princess. She had always struggled with her gift and if Cyrus was as good as he said he is, than maybe she would become more comfortable with it.

Marty, about to be lost to his memories once more, was snapped to attention a loud roar cut through the forest. The traveling party was immediately on edge, Marty and TJ both drawing their swords. Cyrus was rigid straight, scanning the forest as if seeing something the others couldn’t. The four of them were on edge for severally heart-stopping moments. As Marty began to relax, a hellhound landed in front of them.

The hellhound has several bleeding wounds, all from different forms of attack. It had broken off arrows protruding from its hide and claw and teeth marks from wolves and birds of prey. It was easily three times the size of their horses, teeth and claws as long as Marty’s forearm. Sensing the new enemy, it turned to glare at the four of them. A low growl escaped from its maw, but before it could attack, a barrage of arrows fell on it, followed by a pack of wolves.

The animals and arrows were soon followed by a brown-haired girl who jumped on the back of the hellhound. The monster tried to buck her off, but she held on fast. She reached behind her and pulled out a dagger, careful to keep it away from herself or the wolves. Finally, she plunged the blade into the monster’s skull. The monster dropped and the girl rolled off, effectively pulling the bloodied blade from the monster’s head. The hellhound lay still and the girl slowly rise to her feet. As Marty’s eyes fell on the girl’s face, his heart stopped. She was beautiful, and for a moment, Marty just sat there in shock, wondering who could possibly be so incredible.

“Buffy!”, Cyrus exclaimed as he jumped off his horse and ran to hug her.

Oh, Marty thought. That’s who.

#andi mack #tyrus #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #fanfic #marty from the party #amber kippen #ancient greece #au #jonah beck #walker brodsky

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saccharinedanganimagines · 6 years

Note

Hello hello! how about baby fuyuhiko, Kichi, kiibab and sushi detective and avacado with a stoic detective S/o who goes out on a case/ mission and goes missing. They are found a week or two later in an alleyway with blood trickling down their head, (they’re fine but are pretty injured) even after this, they just tell them it doesn’t matter what happened how do they react? Sorry for the detail, you can cut out whatever you want, I don’t mind.

Don’t worry about too much detail! It helps me write better, I tend to put in details myself if I need to spice things up a little. And this is a good amount of spice!

These two requests are similar, so I’ll write for both.

~ Mod Ouma

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu

The Ultimate Yakuza lives a dangerous life, where anyone around him could get targeted, hurt and/or killed.

He wasn’t surprised to see someone in his life get taken away.

He was furious.

He worked day and night, ordering his clan onto whoever the hell tried to mess with his partner. Dispersing his underlings throughout the city and speaking to anyone he could contact in the criminal underworld.

Peko was getting increasingly worried for him, so she also worked really hard to find you.

He finds you faster than the police.

It took them two weeks but it was faster than most cases and the fucking mafia did the police’s job better. He laughs at the irony.

He personally goes to where the rumors and research led him, to an old dingy alley.

He doesn’t care who sees him as he nearly throws himself at you. He only told himself to hold back since you had an injury.

“… Fucking hell, what did they do to you..?!” He’s angry, but he’s tired too.

And then, he breaks when you tell him that none of this mattered and that you were fine.

“Fine..? Hey, what the hell are you talking about?! Don’t lie!”

His shouting and cursing had turned weary as an expression of fury and anguish crosses his features.

He wants to snap, but upon seeing your state, he instead focuses on keeping you safe.

“Damn, you’re bleeding… I swear, we’re getting the bastards who fucking hurt you!”

He doesn’t give the police time to get to the scene, instead, he brings you with him and brings you to the hospital himself.

He feels a little resentful against the people in your work place, at the police, for not being able to prevent your kidnapping or even solve it.

He won’t visit you in the hospital for the first 24 hours until he’s gotten his bearings back.

He’ll apologize for not being there with you then, but he won’t apologize for snapping at how you’ve been mistreating yourself.

He gets into a tussle with the police service, but the whole case isn’t over yet.

Within those two week, with the help of his clan, he manages to uncover the whole weight of the case. Closing it and bringing your kidnappers to justice.

But whoever the hell decided to mess with you will get what’s coming to them.

Kokichi Ouma

He never stopped looking.

He didn’t terribly seem different from his usual self.

But his pranks became malicious, often ending with irritation rather than laughter and his mischievous laughter turned into spiteful cackling.

He kept his eyes and ears open for any hint of your whereabouts, going around town to eavesdrop for potential hints.

He finds you himself after finding a stranger connected to the people who kidnapped you.

“… It doesn’t matter, huh?” He has the most blank expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“Well, of course the blood running down your face is as relevant as ketchup. Of course possibly bleeding out in an alleyway isn’t that important at all. S/O.”

“Don’t act dumb!”

Suddenly, tears erupt from the corners of his eyes as his face turns red. His expression is a mix of anger, worry, and sadness.

“You think that life, your life doesn’t matter…? Are you kidding me?!”

He kneels in front of you, gripping the cuffs of your tattered uniform.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Are you expecting me to say ‘Hm? Me? Crying? S/O, you must’ve hit your head preeeetty hard to think that’…?” His voice drastically changed from furious and pleading to his normal nonchalant and jovial tone. But the heartbroken expression on his face remained.

“Well tough luck! Because I’m in no mood to lie right now!”

His deathly grip moves to your waist as he clings to you, nearly clawing at your back. His uniform stained by your blood.

“There’s no way you’re doing this again! Two weeks could have turned into forever!”

He’s furious. At you, at the police, at the suspects, but most of all, at himself. For not being able to stop you from getting hurt.

“I love you, you idiot! Don’t ever risk your life again!”

Kokichi will stay furious for a while, but he doesn’t stop holding your hand even as you’re rushed to the hospital. He only lets go when the doctors force him away from you.

Kiibo/K1-B0

Kiibo is determined to find you!

It doesn’t matter if it takes 3 days, a week, or even month!

He searches non stop and has even cut back on his recharge time.

He tries to decipher your detective notes, work with Shuichi and make sense of the criminal underground.

He never lost hope and he did get a little obsessive, but it was the logical option if he wanted to find you as fast as possible.

He feels a great sense of loss, but he ignores it so that he could focus.

With Shuichi’s help and his ultimate, you were found.

Until finally, he was face to face with you in the abandoned alleyway you frequently wrote about in your notes.

He finally feels all the repressed emotions he kept crashing down on him as he’s face-to-face with his injured S/O.

“Why, S/O…? It was dangerous but you…” He shakes his head.

“Let’s not talk about what led to this for now.. You need medical attention.”

He treats your minor wounds the best way he can with a sad smile.

A thought he had tried so hard to squash comes back to him:

What if this was the last time he’ll ever see you ever again?

The very thought makes him grip your hand tighter and huddle closer to you in that cold, isolated alleyway.

He keeps you company, making sure you stay conscious and alert until the police and EMS arrived.

“S/O.. I’ve come to understand your drive towards justice after your disappearance, but.. I hope you learn from this experience and use it as a stepping stone towards a healthier and safer life!”

He aggressively nurses you, making sure you’re well-fed, okay and that you don’t disappear on him ever again.

He will also start volunteering for the police, subtly keeping an eye on you so that you don’t get kidnapped ever again.

Shuichi Saihara

By the end of the 2nd week, his emotions overwhelmed him and prevented him from looking for you. He could barely get off his own bed that morning.

As a fellow detective, he saw the signs. Your obsessive behavior for the cases and your stubbornness, the sleepless nights and desperate pacing in your office.

As your partner, he failed to prevent your disappearance.

He only gets up to eat a small meal before checking his clues for the 100th time today.

Then, he discovers one important detail he missed. He rushes to the alleyway the suspect had once visited during one of your crucial confrontations with them.

He finds you there, battered and bleeding from a head injury.

He sinks to the ground and cradles you into his arms.

He’s in the middle of radioing for help when you tell him that you’re fine and that your injury doesn’t matter.

Shuichi’s heart breaks at how defeated your sound compared to your usually stoic tone.

“S-S/O… You’re going to be fine.. What have they done to you…?” His voice is so soft you almost miss his words.

He hugs you, tears falling from his long lashes and onto your already stained uniform.

He can’t help but be locked in his own thoughts, thinking about anything and everything that could have happened to you in those 2 excruciating weeks you were gone.

“I’m sorry… I should have stopped you, helped you, done something…! I was afraid to get in your way… But now I see how trivial that was compared to.. this.”

The police and an ambulance arrived, and despite their advice, Shuichi stays on the scene.

He’s determined to find whoever did this to you. He searches the alleyway thoroughly, finding any and all evidences that will eventually lead your kidnappers to justice.

His eyes are red and puffy but he pushes on, with a newfound hope with your reappearance.

Rantaro Amami

Rantaro took to drinking away his sorrows every other night after you didn’t come back within the first week.

He refuses to even leave his house, even though it started to feel stuffy from the lack of new scenery.

He wanted to help with the investigation, but he couldn’t.

All he knew was that you were getting desperate over your detective work despite his efforts to stop you from overworking yourself.

He keeps losing people who mattered to him.

Then around the second week, he gets a call from Shuichi, who took up your case.

Two, long weeks. And they finally found you.

He’s already in his car, despite Shuichi’s pleas for him to calm down and wait a little longer.

He arrives in the alleyway where they found you. He didn’t think it was impossible for his heart to beat any faster than it did until he saw you.

You were still leaning against the walls of the alley, the EMS wasn’t there yet

Rantaro panics, thinking you’re severely injured until Shuichi talks him down and explains the situations.

With a lot of prodding, they let him in to patch you up with a med kit he always had with him. Perks of being the Ultimate Survivor.

He’s quiet the entire time he patches you up, careful not to hurt you too much as he disinfects your wounds and stops the bleeding.

He doesn’t know what to do exactly.

He kept losing people close to him.. But it wasn’t like he had many chances to find them again.

He’s just so glad you were still alive.

He stays with you for the next few days, refusing to leave your side and trying to nurse you back to health and normalcy.

He clings to you and cries,he tells you about how it was really difficult knowing that there was a chance you weren’t going to come back.

“But please… Don’t ever disappear on me like that again, S/O…I love you too much to see you gone… I’m glad you’re back.”

#fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #fuyuhiko kuzuryuu imagines #kokichi ouma #kokichi ouma imagines #kokichi oma #kokichi oma imagines #shuichi saihara #shuichi saihara imagines #kiibo #k1-b0 #k1-bo imagine #rantaro amami #rantaro amami imagines #new danganronpa v3 #new danganronpa v3 imagine #superdanganronpa 2 #superdanganronpa 2 imagine #angst #neutral end

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k1mheechu1writes · 6 years

Text

WISHLIST (27): OF SUNSETS AND SECRETS

Story: Wishlist; Chapter 27: Of Sunsets and Secrets

Author: Narwhal

TRIGGER WARNING for child abuse

“You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I want to tell you. Maybe it’ll make it easier if another person knows."

Baekhyun learns something. It changes nothing, though.

Hi guys! I'm bringing you this longer than usual hybrid of two Things I never thought I would do, and touching deeper themes. There's a lot of small things that are important for the plot in here, most of them not as obvious, but still there. Please tell me if you like chapters like this, or if you like them the way I was previously doing them so I can decide what to do. x

Kyungsoo and Jongdae were making dinner for the six people in the flat. Well, more like Kyungsoo was making dinner while stopping Jongdae from making a mess.

Minseok and Yixing were laying comfortably on the couch, and Baekhyun was amusing himself by throwing popcorn at his boyfriend, who had long stopped complaining about the attack, and began catching it with his mouth and munching on it, both softly laughing when a piece hit him in the eye or nose.

The news were playing on the background, but no one was paying attention to them.

“… a fifty years old man was sentenced to death penalty this afternoon in Ilsan, found guilty of the murder of his children, a two years old daughter and a seven years old son that he brutally beat to death. The case generated widespread shock in the public as he was found by police after they found both bodies hidden inside…”

“ARGH!”

“Jongdae, you idiot, I told you to cut the pickled radish, not your hand!”

“Sorry, I just lost focus for a second!”

“Go wash that before it gets infected and stop dripping blood all over the floor!”

Baekhyun stopped throwing popcorn at Chanyeol as he saw Jongdae rush towards the bathroom, hand wrapped tightly by a red stained kitchen towel.

He waited for a little bit, but when he didn’t hear any water running, he set the popcorn bowl on top of the coffee table.

“I’ll go check if he needs any help. Chan, go help Soo or we’ll eat next year.”

He swiftly made his way to the bathroom, were he found a pale Jongdae, simply standing in front of the sink, kitchen towel forgotten on the floor, eyes glazed over and staring at his hand as the blood dripped from the wound onto the sink, forming a small red patch that grew larger by the minute, just as Jongdae’s face grew paler.

“Chen are you okay?” Baekhyun asked carefully, and that snapped his friend out of his own head.”

“Yeah, just… a little lightheaded.” He was suddenly swaying a little, and Baekhyun quickly rushed to stand behind him to stabilise him just in case he began to fall.

“It’s okay, let’s wash this and then I’ll get the first aid kit and we’ll get you patched up.”

He made quick work of washing the cut on Jongdae’s palm thoroughly, and then guided him to sit on the living room, signalling Yixing and Minseok to keep an eye on him as he went back to the bathroom to get everything he needed.

Baekhyun quickly knelt in front of Jongdae, taking his hand and carefully inspecting the wound. Fortunately, it was no longer bleeding, just a couple of drops here and there, but it looked better now the blood had been washed off and didn’t appear serious enough for a hospital trip.

“Okay, it’s not deep enough for you to need stitches, which is great. Now, this will burn, but bear with me, please.” He took the disinfectant soaked cotton ball and gently pressed it to the wound, making Jongdae whimper. I know, sorry. That’s it. Now, I’ll wrap it with gauze and you’ll be as good as new.” Baekhyun quickly wrapped the gauze bandage tightly, but not uncomfortably so around his flatmate’s hand, and patted his arm when he finished. “There, all done.”

“Thanks, Baek.” Jongdae said, leaning against the back of the couch. “Sorry for the trouble.”

“It’s okay, I’m used to helping with things like this. I used to volunteer at a children’s sports club when I was on secondary school for a while because of a school project, and there were lots of scrapped knees to take care of.” He said lightly.

The sound of Chanyeol and Kyungsoo yelling that the food was done made everyone quickly migrate to the table, and soon, the flat was filled with loud laughter and sounds of chopsticks hitting plates.

------------------

Baekhyun sighed as he lay his forehead against his Introduction to Social Movements in History textbook. His brain was fried after reading non-stop since he had arrived home after a morning full of lectures. He looked at the clock, surprised to see it was so late already. Time had passed quickly without him realising.

He made his way to the kitchen, grabbing a box of pepero and a can of cola, and headed out of the flat, saying hello to Kyuhyun, who was coming out of the lift carrying grocery bags.

He pressed the button for the seventeenth floor, exiting the lift when the doors opened, and heading towards the door that hid the stairs that took him to the rooftop.

He was still surprised that no one in the whole seventeen floors high building used the roof other than the two of them (and the whole gang, of course. It was the go to place for impromptu barbecue parties.)

He sat on the chairs that were there for public use, sipping on his cola and eating the pepero absentmindedly.

He felt more than heard his mobile, and took it out of his pocket, smiling when he saw who was calling. He was quick to accept the Skype call, and the familiar face, framed by blonde hair soon filled the device’s screen.

“Mummy!” He exclaimed happily, smile wide.

“Hi Bernie! How’s my baby doing?”

“I’m 22, mum, I’m not a baby.”

“Hush you, you could be 60 with a spouse and children and you’d still be my baby.” His mum’s smile mirrored his, voice soft and sweet. “How’s everything going, Bernie?”

“Great! I’m at the rooftop, it’s almost time for sunset and you know I love it.”

“I know. When you were a child and we went to Spain on holidays, you would always whine that you should’ve been living there, so you could watch the sun set every day.”

“Well, I live on a high building now, so I can soak up eighteenth floor sunsets for a year before I go back to rainy England.” He munched on another pepero stick. “How’s everyone doing this week? I’m sorry I haven’t been able to call daily, uni is being a bother right now.”

“Everyone’s doing great, don’t worry son. We know you’re studying hard, and we’re so proud of you, and you’re doing it all on your second language! If someone had come to me while in Uni and asked me if I wanted to go for a year to France and take classes in French I would’ve probably hidden under the table until they left.” Baekhyun laughed. “Your father finally fixed the squeaking step on top of the stairs, and Lucy has been enjoying sneaking downstairs for a midnight snack without us knowing. By the way, your Gran is sending you a package, so as soon as I have the tracking number, I’ll give it to you.”

“Is it food? Please tell me it’s food. I’m about to die from Jaffa Cake withdrawal.”

“I think there might be some food in there.”

“YES! Tell Gran I love her so so much, and she’s my bestest Gran ever!”

“She’s your only Gran.”

“I know, but she’s still the bestest.”

“Bernard, go inside so I can see your face while we talk. I can tell the sun already set, and you’ll get ill if you stay outside, baby.”

Mum!”

-------------------------------------

Baekhyun was startled into consciousness that night.

Disoriented, he wondered what it had been that had stirred him up, until he heard a distinct sob and whimpers of pain.

That had woken him up instantly, and he quickly put on his slippers and run to Jongdae’s room.

He found him trashing against his mattress, sweating profusely and screaming. Baekhyun rushed to the bed and took him by the shoulders.

“Chen.” He tried. “Chen wake up!” He shook him and the other woke up, instantly sitting up with a gasp, and instinctively trying to get away from his hold. “It’s okay, it’s me, Baekhyun. You’re safe.” Jongdae’s eyes lost the glazed look they had but filled with tears as he threw himself into Baekhyun’s arms, sobbing into his shirt as the older one hugged him tightly against his body, running his fingers through his hair in a calming manner. “It’s okay, it was just a nightmare.” Jongdae sobbed louder.

“I wish it was just a nightmare.” He choked out, sobs getting in the way of his words. Baekhyun shushed him, allowing him to cry, and eventually calm down. “Sorry. It’s been a while since this happened.”

“You get nightmares frequently?”

Jongdae doubted for a minute, and stared at Baekhyun’s face, scanning it for something. Whatever it was he was looking for, he seemed to find it.

“They’re not nightmares.” He took a deep breathe. “They’re flashbacks.”

Baekhyun gasped.

“You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I want to tell you. Maybe it’ll make it easier if another person knows.

You know, I wasn’t always Kim Jongdae from Siheung, Gyeonggi-do. Kim Jongdae was born when I was seven years old. Before that I was Jung Gunhyeong, from Jeonju, Jeollabuk-do.

My biological mother died when I was four. She was pregnant with my little sister, and we were all so, so excited. But something went wrong, and one day she was rushed to the hospital and never came back- I couldn’t really understand anything the doctors said, so I don’t know what happened to her, but I understood that she would never wake up, and that my baby sister was gone as well.

My biological father was fine for the first two or so months, grieving, but still treating me as he always had. But after that, he began drinking heavily.

Then, one day, he was extremely drunk when he came home. I had been waiting for hours for him to come back, and asked for food, and he just snapped, slapped me and took me to my room.

That was the first time. I got locked in my room a lot, slapped and punished for small things, given no food until the rare moments when he was sober, when he would feed me, hug me and ask for forgiveness.

It went on for about a year, until a night when he came back and was different, I think he was on drugs now that I think back. He slapped me like every day, but that night he didn’t stop at that. I was lucky that the neighbours heard my screams and called the police.

He beat me within an inch of my life. I spent a month in the hospital recovering from that night.

He was sent to jail, and I was shipped to an orphanage.

I was lucky enough that the day I arrived, a couple that couldn’t have children was visiting the orphanage. My mum says it was love at first sight. She saw tiny me standing awkwardly to the side, and instantly knew I was her son.” He smiled. “They adopted me and asked me if I wanted to keep my name, but I refused. Gunhyeong had only bad memories. So, I became Kim Jongdae, son of two loving, wonderful parents, and have been ever since.” He looked at Baekhyun. “Minseok hyung is the only person that knows. He used to live next door to me, so he saw me when my parents brought me home. He was nine at the time and took me under his wing. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

“It was the news, wasn’t it?” Jongdae raised an eyebrow. “What triggered you. The news the day you cut your hand.”

Jongdae nodded.

“It brought it all back. The kid was my age, it could’ve been me if I hadn’t screamed loud enough, or if the neighbours decided to ignore it.” He dried his cheeks. “Please don’t pity me for having been abused, or for being adopted.”

“I would never pity you for being adopted. Besides, you’re still Kim Jongdae, my best internet friend, my silly, louder than life prankster flatmate, the Chen that’s a loyal friend and one hell of a good guy.” They smiled at each other. “Thank you for telling me. It couldn’t have been easy. Thank you for trusting me with this. It changes nothing, though. And I will still get revenge for the flour in the hair dryer prank you played at me last Friday.”

Loud laughs resonated in the empty flat.

Thing I did and never thought I would do # 27 Watch the sunset from a tall building.

Thing I did and never thought I would do #28: Have someone trust me with a secret.

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imjustthemechanic · 6 years

Photo

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest

Something is definitely wrong here, although whether it’s an actual mummy curse is a little hard to say.

Being asked out was another thing that rarely happened to Natasha. She didn’t frequent places like pubs where she might be ‘picked up’, and men who actually knew her, like the ones who worked with her at the archaeology department, found her demeanour off-putting. So this request from Barnes was a surprise, especially considering his profession.

“You’re a reporter,” she said. “You collect facts – you must know that I’m the one who was a Russian assassin on the lam before I became an archaeologist.”

“I do know that,” Barnes agreed with a single nod.

“And you still want a date?” Nat raised her eyebrows.

“I’m a risk-taker,” said Barnes.

“All right, then,” Nat said. “Although we’re gonna be stuck in each other’s company on these trains for a couple of days first. What if by the time we get there, you’ve changed your mind?”

“I don’t think I’ll change my mind,” said Barnes.

Allen chuckled. “Well, this is an unexpected development,” he observed. “Not unwelcome, but definitely unexpected.”

“Dad!” said Nat, and even though it did so in annoyance, part of her was proud of how naturally the title slipped out this time.

“Oh, he’s your father?” asked Barnes.

“More or less,” said Natasha.

“Geeze, only just asked you out and I’m already meeting your parents!” said Barnes. “Slow down, girl!”

Nat groaned.

They emerged from the Chunnel in Coquelles and moved on to Calais, where the mummy crate and passengers transferred to one of the superfast continental trains that would take them east, around the Mediterranean to Turkey. This was done very quickly so people couldn’t gather to stare, and Nat, Allen, and Clint didn’t get an opportunity to do more than wave to their friends in the other train car. Minutes later, they were back on their way.

The train set off through rolling French countryside under a bright blue sky with little fluffy clouds in it, already warmer here than it had been in Kent. The arable fields had been harvested to stubble but the pastures were green with cattle and sheep grazing, and the lines of bocage between them still had a few leaves. People were out harvesting the last of the apples and pears.

Lulled by the hum of the electric train, Clint went back to sleep, while Natasha got her laptop out to try to work on her Tower paper. Allen and Barnes, meanwhile, continued to chat. By the time they arrived, Nat thought, Barnes was going to know Allen better than he did her.

“So where did you grow up?” Allen asked.

“Um.” Barnes paused. “New York. Brooklyn.”

Allen cocked his head. “Had to think about it?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Barnes made a grimace. “Little… momentary lapse in ability to speak.”

“And here I thought that only happened to old people,” said Allen. “I did that the other week in a pastry shop. I couldn’t for the life of me remember the word croissant and I had to ask the clerk for a cream-filled curly one.”

Suddenly, the train gave a lurch. There was a horrible squealing sound as the brakes locked, and people cried out in surprise at the violent deceleration. Clint sat up straight with a holler, his bow in his hands before he was even properly awake. Barnes jumped to his feet, pulled his bag down from the overhead, and ran towards the back of the car, where it connected to the one where the mummy was kept.

Nat was right behind him. Apparently the CAAP were going to work today, after all.

Barnes kicked open the door, and scrambled across the rattling connection to the mummy car. The train was still in motion, and even though they were slowing down, the tracks flickered past below them too fast to follow. Natasha could smell burning rubber and hot metal from the brakes. He scrambled across the rattling connection to the mummy car, and wrenched the second door open, too.

There was nobody there. Just the crate strapped to the floor, vibrating as the train continued screaming to a stop. Could it be a curse after all, or just an unrelated problem?

Barnes wasn’t looking at the mummy case, though. He had unzipped his bag, and took out a smaller cloth sack. Inside were square objects with lights on them, which he began attaching to the walls of the car. They looked an awful lot like explosives.

“Hey!” Natasha grabbed his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?”

He turned and backhanded her across the face.

Nat reacted automatically, reaching up to grab his arm and twist it out of the way. She spun aside, wrapped her arms around his neck, and threw him to the ground. He grabbed her around the middle and rolled over, pinning her underneath him.

She pushed Barnes off her, and he staggered backwards as she somersaulted to her feet again. That was when Nat realized there was something wrong with his face. Barnes wasn’t actually looking at her. His expression was glazed, as though he were focused on something infinitely far away that nobody else could see. She’d seen that before – he was under some kind of control, hypnotic suggestion or something similar to it. She had to bring him out of it. If he woke up, he could be questioned.

“Barnes!” she shouted. “Barnes! Listen to me!”

He ran at her again, and she kicked him in the stomach. At that moment, the train finally ground to a halt, and its momentum added to hers as she drove her foot into him. Barnes was knocked backwards and hit the side cargo door with such force that it sprang open, dumping him onto the gravel outside. Nat jumped out after him and grabbed his collar.

“Wake up!” She shook him. “Come on, you bastard, wake up!”

Behind her, the explosives went off. She let herself fall on top of Barnes and flattened both of them against the ground to protect them from the blast. A moment later, a dozen men in black, with gas masks hiding their faces, emerged from the surrounding bocage and climbed aboard the train through the blown-out side. Metal cutters came out to snip the cables that held the mummy crate in place.

It was a heist, Nat realized. Any curses had nothing to do with this – the mummy was actually being stolen. She started to get up.

Barnes hit her again.

Nat fell backwards and her head bounced off the metal wheel of the cargo car. Stars flickered in front of her eyes as she got back to her feet. She managed to stagger forward a step or two, then lost her balance and dropped to her knees, scraping them painfully on the gravel around the tracks. She would have to wait for a moment to recover before she could do any more.

Barnes stood over her for a moment, then went to help the rest of the thieves. A plant. He was a plant the whole time and his flirting with her had been part of that, to take her off her guard and keep her from reacting immediately when he made his move. Worse, she’d fallen for it. Even as she knelt there waiting for her head to stop spinning, the thought made Natasha absolutely furious. She was supposed to be a spy, even if she were a retired one! She was supposed to notice the signs and recognize them! Here she’d completely missed them, if there’d even been any. The only odd thing Barnes had done was momentarily forget the name of his home borough, and anybody could do that. Either he was damned good at his job, or Nat was just an idiot.

“Natasha! Natasha!” Allen was at her side, putting his arms around her to drag her to her feet. “Are you all right? Can you hear me?”

“Yes, I can hear you,” she said, wincing. “You don’t have to shout.”

“You’re bleeding!” He touched her scalp, which made her vision flash white. “Oh, my god. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“No, you’re not!” He showed her his fingers, which were covered with blood. “Look at that!”

“Head wounds bleed, the scalp gets a lot of blood,” Nat insisted “If nothing is broken I’m probably fine. I’m gonna…” she tried to push him away from her and stand on her own.

“Oh, no, you don’t, young lady.” Allen grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and led her to the edge of the hedgerows to sit down at the foot of very old, partially collapsed drystone wall. “The others will handle it. You’re hurt, and you’re not going to move.”

She glared at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said, and his face backed up the sentiment. “You told me I hadn’t actually spent the last thirty-five years fathering you, so I’ve got a lot of time to make up for. Now, sit still and let me apply pressure to the wound.” He took a package of Kleenex out of his pocket, wadded some of it up, and pressed it against the back of her head.

If Nat had been in the middle of a battle with enemy agents she would probably have been good for several more minutes of fighting before she fell over, but with Allen beside her insisting, she had no choice but to settle down and rest. It probably made her worse, she thought. If she’d been up and going the adrenaline would have dulled her pain. Without it, all she could do was sit here and watch other people fight, and feel her head wound throbbing.

She saw Clint shooting arrows at the thieves, who returned fire with their guns. Sharon got in on the act, pulling out her revolver, and Sam had gotten a gun from somewhere, as well. Sir Stephen rushed into the fray with nothing but his old Saxon-style shield, but its magic repelled bullets even at very close range, and it was perfectly good from hitting people with.

Clint hurried into the cover of the bocage and squatted next to Natasha and Allen. He stuck the ends of several arrows in the dirt so he could get at them easily. “Should’ve brought the exploding ones after all,” he muttered, pulling one out to fire.

Then there was a clang as a canister landed inside the train car. Natasha heard a muffled explosion, and then smelled a familiar scent.

“Tear gas. Let’s get out of here.” She took a deep breath and held it.

Allen helped her up again, Clint pulled his arrows out, and they crashed through the hedges and trees into the field beyond. At the edge of this was a half-ruined barn, and through a fallen-down wall they could see a semi-truck with a trailer parked just behind the shell of the building. This was big enough to transport the mummy case, and innocuous enough that nobody would wonder what was on board – especially with the Coca-Cola logo painted on the side.

“We’ll have to do something about that,” said Clint. He pulled an arrow out, but didn’t fire it – instead, he knelt beside the truck looking for the fuel line.

The driver’s door opened. Nat called Clint’s name, but the driver – another man in a black mask – dropped on him from above.

Natasha wriggled out of Allen’s grip and went to pull the man off of Clint, but several more goons were already bounding towards them out of the bocage. Nat got a hold of the truck driver with her arm around his neck and took the knife he’d been about to use on Clint, while Clint took his arrow and fired it at the approaching men, hitting one in the shoulder and making him fall backwards into one of his fellows, whose gun went off by accident.

“Grab this guy,” Nat said, pushing the truck driver towards Allen – they still needed at least one alive to question. Allen grabbed him by the jacket, then took the strap of his gas mask and pulled it off over his head, only to cry out in shock at what he saw.

“What?” asked Nat, but when she looked back, she found Allen holding nothing but an empty jacket, with the man’s trousers and shoes in a heap at his feet. The person inside had simply melted away.

#fanfic #steve rogers #natasha romanov #sharon carter #sam wilson #clint barton #bucky barnes

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silverfootstepswrites · 6 years

Text

Butterfly [2]

summary Well, if you fall on the ice, it’ll bring the swelling down by itself...

Sakura woke with a headache. Her whole body ached, actually. And when she looked out the window, palm pressed to her temple, it was still dark. She wondered why her alarm hadn’t gone off. Or why one of her rink-mates wasn’t texting her to get the hell up.

It took a while. Too long, in fact, to realize that this was the house she had grown up in. That what awaited her wasn’t ice but books.

She clenched her hands in her lap. Noticed that she was still in her clothes from the night before. But her phone and keys were on the nightstand. So apparently she had gotten home fine. When she checked the screen, it was before 5 am.

Sighing, she swung her legs out of bed. There was no point in trying to fall back asleep now. Her head still felt a little fuzzy. And the best way to get alcohol out of the blood, she had learned, was to sweat it out.

Earbuds in, she made her way through the dark house. She stretched her limbs between bites of her cereal. And by the time she ran out the front door, the sun was beginning to rise.

It was already April. This year’s skating season would be coming to a close soon. Out of habit, she had kept up with the results from all the major events. It was the first time in a long time that she hadn’t been at the World Championships in person. It felt odd looking up the scores online. Seeing all the familiar faces on news sites rather than in person.

Shaking her head, Sakura set off down the hill. She would run a circuit around the town. Until the jumbled thoughts in her head had the chance to straighten themselves out. Classical music flowing through her ears, Sakura kept her eyes focused straight ahead.

The second day at her new job was about the same as her first. She still felt the stares from the students. Although, it seemed that word was getting around that she wasn’t quite as friendly as rumored. Which suited her just fine. She didn’t really have a public image to maintain anymore.

Sakura spent some more time going through the closet in the back of the library. She found a few more books that could be added to the collection. She had lunch in the teacher’s room again. It looked like some of the other teachers were nursing hangovers, wincing at loud noises and shielding their eyes from the window.

“Ah, I knew you’d be alright,” remarked Shikamaru, tossing his things onto his desk, one hand in his pocket.

“Why? I wasn’t feeling so hot when I woke up either,” answered Sakura. And Shikamaru raised his eyebrows.

“Weird. You seemed fine when you left. I walked you to your house. You didn’t seem drunk or anything,” he replied. Sakura grimaced, rubbing the back of her neck.

“I didn’t say anything weird?” she pried. Shikamaru shook his head. And then he smirked, leaning over the desk to stare at her.

"Why? Does the great Haruno-senshu have bad drinking habits? That's not something we got to see in the news," he teased. She smiled, for a moment.

"I guess not."

After lunch, Sakura shuffled through the old logs Chiyo-sensei had left behind. As she flipped, the edge of one of the papers sliced through her fingertip. She scrambled to wrap a tissue around it so that blood wouldn't get on any of the papers. Hand clamped around her finger, she hurried out into the hallway, downstairs to the nurse's office.

She pushed the door open with one hand.

"Excuse me? Sensei?" she called out.

There was a pause. A chair squeaked. And then a man with bright red hair emerged. That made Sakura pause. She had sort of expected the kind old lady who had always been there. The man paused too.

"Haruno-sensei? How can I help you?" he asked her. And then his eyes drifted down to her finger clutched in her hand.

"Ah," he said.

She sat down in a chair, looking around the tiny office. The walls were bright white. There were two narrow beds separated by a blue curtain. There was a desk with a computer on it, along with green cabinets along the walls with glass doors. The office hadn't really changed since she had graduated. And she had been a frequent customer. Bruised legs, swollen toes- she had limped in here at least once a week to ask for an ice pack.

The doctor sat on his rolling stool. He held out his hand to her.

"It must be awkward when someone knows your name and you don't know theirs," he remarked. Sakura's lips twitched upwards.

"It is. You get used to it, though," she responded.

"I'm Sabakuno Gaara. And you can probably guess that I'm the school doctor," he introduced himself. He then peeled back the tissue she had wrapped around her cut. Although there was a lot of blood, it was a shallow wound. He turned around in his chair to rummage through the drawers.

"I'm sorry I wasn't at your party yesterday. I have a son, so I can't stay out late," Gaara apologized, turning back to her. Sakura's eyebrows rose.

"You have a son? I don't mean to be rude, but how old are you?" she asked.

"I'm 33. He's adopted, though. So no spreading rumors about me having a child in my teens," he responded. They chuckled. Sakura found her shoulders relaxing. She barely winced when he sanitized the cut with alcohol.

"How are you liking the school so far?" asked Gaara. Sakura shrugged her free shoulder.

"It feels weird being back here. But nostalgic, at the same time. It's been a while," she answered. Gaara nodded.

"Nara-sensei used to be a student here too, right?"

"He and I were in Hatake-sensei's class together. I've known him since we were kids," Sakura confirmed. She watched as Gaara wrapped a bandage around her finger. The bleeding had already stopped. It was more of a matter of keeping the cut clean. She could see the doctor pause as he saw the faint calluses on her fingers. Not on the tips, but running like lines down the sides. But she could tell that he was trying not to be rude because he didn't ask about them.

"There. All done. Can't have the new librarian bleeding to death," he quipped. Sakura got to her feet, bowing her head a little. He returned the gesture.

"Thank you, Sensei," she said. But as she turned toward the door, it slid open on its own. A student walked in, a yawn stretching his mouth.

"Senseiiii, I'm gonna take a nap," he mumbled, stumbling his way in. Gaara sighed, shaking his head.

But Sakura hooked her finger into the collar of the student's shirt as he walked past.

"Hey! Let me go!" he grumbled. As he flailed to get free, he caught sight of her face. All signs of sleep fled from his expression. In fact, his entire face lit up as he turned to her.

"Nee-chan!" Naruto crowed, trying to throw his arms around her. Sakura jerked him away by his collar again.

"We're at school. Call me 'sensei'," she reprimanded. And Naruto sulked, lower lip sticking out.

"You're so mean, Nee-chan. You don't even tell me you're coming back home. You don't come to visit us. And now you won't even let me hug you," Naruto whined. Sakura's expression didn't change.

"I don't hug brats that skip class. Get out of here," retorted Sakura.

"But Hatake-sensei's class is boooring. He makes me sleepy," Naruto complained. Sakura released his collar to slap the back of his head.

"Get back to class," she said again. Naruto rubbed the sore spot. And suddenly, his eyes gleamed.

"Will you come visit if I go back to class?" asked Naruto. Sakura's eyes narrowed. Hand on her hip as she considered this. And then, she flapped her hand at him. Naruto whooped.

"Today?" he asked.

"Fine, fine. Get out," Sakura sighed.

Naruto raced out of the room faster than she had ever seen him move before. Gaara crossed his arms across his chest.

"It must be nice being from around here. Is Uzumaki-kun a relative of yours?" queried Gaara.

Sakura sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Something like that."

As soon as the last bell rang, the library doors burst open. Naruto stood in the doorway, panting. Sakura didn't look up at him. She took her time double-checking the logbook before she closed it.

"Let's go!" Naruto wheedled.

"Hold your horses. I've still got stuff to do," she replied. She moved to the windows to begin lowering the blinds. Naruto threw his stuff aside to help her, chattering away merrily. He grinned so hard that it almost looked like his face would tear in two. He had grown a lot taller, but he hadn't changed much in terms of his personality.

The ground was littered with flower petals. Muffling their footsteps. There were still students milling around the doors and schoolyard when Sakura stepped out. One hand gripping the strap of her bag. The window blew and her hair fell into her face. She pushed her bangs to the side as she watched Naruto run to retrieve his bike.

She said nothing as he walked it over to her. The pedals spinning slowly as the wheels rotated. Naruto beamed.

"Let's go!"

Naruto chattered away as they made their way down the hill. He only stopped when students whizzed past on their bikes, shouting his name at the top of their lungs. And Naruto would yell their names back, laughing just as hard. At the bottom of the mountain was an old skating rink. It actually didn't look as old now. At some point, they had renovated the outside of the place. Gotten rid of the chipping paint. Now it was sparkling white, even the railing of the steps leading up to the door were new. Sakura spotted a cardboard cut-out of herself in one of the front windows, posing with a gold medal. Naruto laughed at it until he saw the expression on her face. Then he hurried to jam his bike into the rack. Pumping his arms at his sides, he burst in through the front door.

"Oi, Naruto! You'll break- hey! What are you doing!" a man yelled as Sakura walked in.

She saw Naruto with the cut-out in his arms. And his father was holding onto the legs, trying to wrestle it away. They both froze when they saw her.

"...oh.... OH!" Minato said, eyes popping wide open. Shoving the cut-out into his son's arms, he rushed over to greet Sakura. Grasping both her hands in his. His whole face lighting up. Naruto used the distraction to stuff the life-sized cut-out of her into the corner. Cramming it behind a potted plant.

"You're all grown up!" Minato breathed, his expression radiant. Sakura fumbled to come up with the right words in response. Naruto's parents had been friends with her own parents. They had always treated her like she was one of them. And Minato hadn't changed a bit. A little more wrinkled, a little silver sprinkled into his hair.

The door behind the counter opened up.

"What's all the ruckus here!" Kushina scolded as she came out. When she spotted Sakura, she froze mid-finger-wag. Ducking under the counter, she ran out to smother Sakura in a hug. Minato moved out of the way to avoid being crushed too.

"Oooooh look who it is! It's been too long! Why didn't you let us know you were moving back!" she exclaimed, rocking Sakura back and forth. Naruto danced around them, barely able to contain his glee.

"That's what I said, Mom!" he agreed.

When Kushina finally pulled away, Sakura felt the air rush back into her lungs. Kushina clasped both her hands. Squeezing tight.

"So! Are you here to skate?" asked Kushina. Sakura almost said no. Hesitated at the way mother and son were staring at her like children on Christmas day. Behind them, Minato shrugged.

"I...uh... I didn't bring my skates," Sakura tried.

"That's fine!" Naruto responded. He launched himself over the counter and began digging through the racks. He dug up a pair that looked brand new.

"23, right?" he asked.

Sakura blinked a few times. "Uh..."

"Come on, Naruto. Sakura-chan is probably tired. Don't be so pushy," Minato finally stepped in to help her. Kushina and Naruto groaned in unison, leaning against each other and sagging. Like two balloons losing air. Sakura felt herself swaying a little.

"Well... I guess a little while can't hurt. Naruto can come watch only if he promises to do all his homework later," Sakura bargained. Naruto sprang upright.

Minato clapped Naruto on the back. He cast Sakura a glance over his shoulder, mouthing 'thank you'. Naruto squirmed out of his father's grip to run after Sakura.

A wall of cool air hit Sakura as soon as she opened the door. She flexed her hands, wishing that she had brought at least a pair of gloves. Her slacks weren't exactly the best material for skating, but they would do. Shedding her cardigan, she stepped onto the ice. Rubbing her bare arms to warm them up.

She stood in the middle of the rink, inside the blue circle. The smell of the cold settled into the back of her throat. Something about it was comforting.

"What kind of music should I play?" asked Naruto. She looked over and found him fiddling with the speakers. He plugged his phone in, fingers hovering over the screen.

"Anything," Sakura replied. And she watched Naruto make a face. He scrolled through a few things. His face lit up. He selected a song, eyes glittering as he looked up at her. Waiting for her reaction.

The brass section swelled. The strings rising up to meet them. It was the song from her exhibition at her last World Championships. She smiled, nodding at him once. As the violin section rose in a gorgeous crescendo, Sakura took off. Her skates carving into the pristine ice. The rink spinning past as she raised her arms to the heavens. She could feel her blood pumping to all her limbs as she threw herself into her jumps. The sharp blades of the skates chipping away at the ice.

She took off on the edge of her left skate, spiraling through the air. Landing on her right foot, left leg extended back. Naruto half-cheered before he stopped himself, hands clapping over his mouth. The strings screeching into an almost dissonant noise as she gathered speed. She dug her toe pick into the ice, launching herself high. Arms tucked in, counting the rotations.

'You really suck at this', she remembered him laughing as he skated over to help her to her feet.

She stuck the landing. Sweat beading on the back of her neck.

As she skated past, she glimpsed Naruto's star-struck expression. Face flushed as he watched her every move. She smiled a little to herself.

Once she finished the song, Naruto played another for her. The one from her short program during her second Junior Grand Prix. And then the free skate that had won her her second gold at the Grand Prix Final.

She felt her heart swell as she landed the tricky combination. Double-axel, triple-toe loop. The audience exploding into applause as she moved. Tears welled up in her eyes as she recalled sitting in the kiss and cry. Kisame throwing his arm around her as they announced her score. Another world record that she had shattered.

As the song ended, fading out in a decrescendo, the tears flowed freely down her face. Even though she was smiling. Even though all she could hear was the phantom applause, bouquets and dolls raining down onto the ice from the fans. The tears just wouldn't stop.

She knew that Naruto could see her. But he was surprisingly silent. He turned his back to her, pretending to check her phone. Giving her what little privacy he could as she composed herself.

Kushina invited her to stay for dinner. But Naruto distracted his mother, silently motioning for Sakura to slip out. She offered him a quick smile. Pretending that her nose was runny from how cold it was on the rink.

She took a hot bath when she got home. Leg dangling out of the tub, head resting against the tiled wall. She scrolled through her phone with one hand. Karin was back in Moscow, posing in front of the Red Square. Ino posted a photo of her morning smoothie bowl along with an inspirational quote. Sakura double-tapped both of them, adding a little heart to the count. She kept scrolling. Samui had posted a video of Haku skating in circles around her, showing off his new sponsored jacket and gloves.

Wrapped in a robe, wet hair twisted back in a towel, Sakura called Haku. It took a while. And when he did pick up, she could hear him fumbling.

"Haku?"

"Don't 'Haku' me! You're alive?!" he exclaimed.

"Ah," she replied. She sat at her desk. She had brought a few books home with her, just to read for fun. It had been a while since she had had the time to do anything like that.

"How could you just up and leave like that? You didn't even say goodbye? You didn't tell me beforehand that you were retiring? I've been calling you since the Olympics!" Haku nagged her nonstop. And Sakura listened, nodding like he could see her.

"You're so cruel! I was so distracted by you that I only got silver at the World Championships," he went on. It was almost like he was right in her ear. Sighing and complaining like he always did. That made her feel a little better.

“I seriously can’t believe you just retired like that,” Haku groaned into the phone for the millionth time. His voice was a little echoey. She could hear the sound of sharpened metal gliding across the ice.

“Are you training for the next season?” Sakura asked, leafing through a novel. She spotted a tear on one of the first few pages.

“Yeah. Coach says that if he ever sees you again, he’s going to chop you up and turn you into a hambagu steak,” Haku added, sounding a little less glum. There was a pause.

“I’m going to come visit you during the off-season. So I can rub all my new gold medals in your face,” he declared. Sakura laughed at that.

“I’ll look forward to it, Haku," she replied.

And then, just to rile him up, she added, "Maybe one day you'll get as many as me."

"Sakura, you asshole! Come up to Sendai and say that to my face!" he yelled. And then, in the background, she heard another voice.

"Wait! Is that Sakura-senpai? Let me say hi!"

“Haku! Get off the phone and get back on the ice or I’ll come over and beat your ass!”

"Ugh, so annoying! I'll call you back, Sakura," Haku hurried to say before he hung up.

Over the next several days, Sakura continued to get used to Konoha again. To the slow pace of the town. How people rarely hurried and pushed to get around. There were no angry drivers honking their horns or businessmen with stern faces shoving to fit on the train. People smiled more here. And Sakura had somehow managed to forget that during her time away.

With Tsunade's approval, Sakura began planning a small facelift for the library. She popped into the lab to ask Orochimaru for his help. He also happened to be the advisor of the botany club. With his help, she identified several plants that would help purify the air in the library. She spent part of her lunch break on the phone, looking for nearby nurseries. There was one a few towns over and she made a note to go visit it over the weekend.

"It's so... bland. Can we paint it?" Sakura asked, sticking her head into Tsunade's office again. The principal blinked.

"Paint it?" she repeated.

"I don't mean all the walls. Just... a mural against one of them?" Sakura suggested. Tsunade squinted at her.

"We don't have enough money to hire someone. Would you do it yourself?" asked Tsunade. Sakura made a face.

"Everything I draw ends up looking like a really ugly dog," she confessed. Tsunade tapped her chin.

"Why don't you go ask the art teacher? If he can't help, I'm sure he can point you to some students who can," Tsunade suggested.

"Oh? I haven't seen Iwano-sensei around. Do you know where I could find him?"

The art teacher when she had been a student was a young man from Tokyo. His roguish grins had made him popular with all the girls. And his love of video games had been him popular with all the boys. But Tsunade shook her head.

"Iwano-sensei was arrested for attempted arson not long after you graduated."

"Huh?"

"We have another art teacher now. He's an eccentric fellow, but he's not a bad guy," Tsunade explain. Sakura squinted at her.

"Are you really not going to tell me the arson story after you brought it up, Kouchou?" demanded Sakura. Tsunade shrugged.

"Not while I'm sober. Now go. I've got a meeting with a parent soon," the older woman said, pointing toward the door.

Sakura stepped out into the hallway. As she headed up the stairs, she spotted Shikamaru teaching in one of the classrooms. She waved as she passed. He nodded once, still talking as he leaned against his desk. And while he loved to complain about his kids, most of them seemed to be paying attention as he spoke.

She stopped in the art room. There was no one there. No note on the door to indicate where the teacher had gone. She dropped by two more times by the end of the school day. Still no sign of the elusive art teacher. Shrugging, Sakura packed up her things.

There was no rush. She would try again tomorrow.

As Sakura walked out the school gate, she heard footsteps pounding after her.

"Nee-ch- I mean, Sensei!" Naruto called after her. She paused. Waiting for him to catch up to her. His messenger bag banging against his hip as his feet pounded the sidewalk.

"Are you okay?" he queried between huffing breaths. Sakura put her hand on her hip.

"After the other day, I mean. You seemed really upset," Naruto went on. Eyes wide as he stared at her.

"Yeah. You know. You start to get sentimental when you get old like me. Don't worry about it too much, Naruto," she sighed. He scowled.

"You're like... 27. You're not old yet," he argued. Smiling, she reached out to ruffle his hair.

"Aw, flattering me already? You've grown up a lot," she joked. And he grinned at her as he tried to fix his hair.

"Does that mean you're going to come back today?" he asked. Eyes going all glittery again. Sakura smiled, hands slipping into her pockets. Head tilting back to stare up at the blue, blue skies.

“No,” she replied.

“What? WHY?” Naruto demanded.

“Because I saw you sleeping in Hatake-sensei’s class again.”

“Oh, come on!” groaned Naruto as he trailed after her. All the way down the side of the mountain.

#writing #itasaku #butterfly #US Championships are on rn #it's a great time to be alive #i'm not crying you're crying #ok i'm crying

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humble-sunflower-blog · 7 years

Text

Thrown for a Loop

So I’m still dealing with a lot and I'm not officially back because I cant guarantee a stable posting schedule. But here is a little something inspired by @the-clairvoyant-rick to hopefully please you all!

Imagine if you will dad Rick, Beth is a little girl, his life is kinda average and boring he has yet to invent the portal gun or really become the Rick we know today. Instead, he's just a guy with marital problems trying to make it big as an inventor.

When one day a portal opens in his garage and from it stumbles out a wiry teenager with curly hair and a bleeding wound on his shoulder. Morty is there by accident, a malfunction in Ricks portal gun after it got fried by a laser. He barely had time to fix it before shoving a wounded Morty through a hastily made and quickly collapsing Portal

And that's how Morty finds himself bleeding on the floor of Ricks garage. He's dazed and confused his vision fading as the pain makes his world spin. He hears Ricks voice asking if he's ok, he sees the head of blue hair and he tries to call out but he cant make a sound...

The world goes black and he folds like a deck of cards. When he wakes up later he's on a cold metal workbench. He's not wearing a shirt but Ricks labcoat is overtop of him. It's dark and quiet. When Rick walks in. Morty is relieved to see him until he notices how young Rick looks how... HOT he is.

The blue haired scientist says he's relieved that he woke up and introduces himself as Rick Sanchez, Morty in shock only barely manages to mumble out his own name "M-Morty."

Rick is fascinated by Morty. A young man falling through a portal with a wound that looks like it was caused by technology beyond earths knowledge. He thought of taking him to the hospital or even telling his wife. But he worries that if he does the young boy will disappear from his life leaving a gaping hole of questions.

So he takes care of him. Hides him in the garage his angry wife stopped coming in long ago. He fixes the wound as best he can and waits. Eventually, he eats dinner and tucks Beth into bed for the night.

When he comes back to the garage the boy is awake and frightened. But Rick is barely able to hide his excitement. He tells the boy his name and barely gives the kid time to say his before launching into a tirade of questions. Later he would think about Morty's name and decide that he liked it.

Morty had been with young Rick for a few days. The older man was insatiable for knowledge. He'd pester Morty constantly to know more. But Morty would give no hints or clues. He hadn't even told Rick that he was his grandfather. Too worried about the harmful repercussions he might have on the future if he told Rick too much. Yet still, he felt indebted to this young version of his grandfather. He kept Morty fed, and upon finally ringing out the truth from Morty [that he was from another time and space] young Rick had adamantly promised to help Morty return to his own time and place. It was nice of young Rick to offer and brought a smile to Morty's face but he knew that eventually grandpa Rick would track him down and maybe wipe the past memories of himself for good measure.

But... It was starting to take awhile. Morty had been there for weeks now. He learned much about Ricks past, how he and his wife no longer got along, judging from the yelling Morty could hear through the door connecting the house to the garage, he learned Beth had been forbidden long ago from going into the garage on the grounds of it being too dangerous. But most of all he learned that Rick had long ago been a truly kind man. Caring, and loving, but with a vast need to understand and learn more all the time. And Morty was his favorite thing. He questioned him about everything and anything poking and prodding for more information... And slowly Morty found himself melting under the man's charisma and attention... his dashing face might have had a little something to do with it also. Morty never said anything about knowing Rick or his future but small things... Like what kind of gun had made the wound on his shoulder, the planets hed seen and liked best, the existence of alternate dimensions. And every new scrap of information was treated like gold with Rick praising and beaming at Morty as he tinkered with his newest attempt to get Morty back to his own time and space

Nearly a month in, and Morty and Rick spoke like old friends. Morty enjoyed knowing more than Rick he enjoyed the respect he got when he spoke how Rick smiled at him and listened intently. He was rewarded with information about Rick, his favorite foods, and snacks his early life. They would get off topic and end up just talking about their own lives. Rick always seemed desperate to do so, like he was unloading everything onto Morty like he was the only one who understood. And in a way he was. They both knew too much sadness, loneliness, the struggle of school life, Morty was surprised to hear how Rick, charismatic amazing brilliant Rick felt the gnawing loneliness that consumed Mortys life.

Two months in. Morty could hear Rick and his wife fighting again. She was angry with Rick for spending so much time in the garage for locking her out of his life. It made Morty wince to hear doors slam and angry sobs and Beths worried cries for her mother. But soon the house fell silent with Rick gone out on the town and his wife and Beth retiring for the night. It was midnight when Morty heard Rick stumble into the garage in darkness. Confused he turned on the small table lamp and for just a moment... He thought it was his Grampa Rick, drunk as the devil stumbling towards him. But it wasn't. It was young Rick he stared at Morty intensely his gaze burning into his eyes and came closer. Morty tried to move but his body was frozen his heart pounding he understood now what it was like to be prey. Rick moved closer and closer until the sent of whiskey was hot on Mortys face. Their eyes never darting away for an instant. And then all at once. Rick was on him his dry lips smashing against Ricks and Morty wished he could say he fought against it. But he didn't. He kissed back his body burning with heat he didn't even understand. The idea of messing with the future was tossed out the window as Rick pulled off Morty's clothes and embraced him like a passionate lover.

For the next few weeks. Morty was ashamed to say they would repeat the act. And Rick was even better sober then he was drunk. They would kiss passionately, talk constantly and make love frequently. Their bodies seemed to know each other too well as if they had spent multiple lifetimes together. Rick would often comment about how it seemed like Morty had known him longer than his wife had. But Morty would never respond only smile and kiss Rick sweetly. In both their minds there were nagging doubts and worries. The thought of betraying their loved ones, or ruining their future. Yet they could not pull apart drawn together by a force stronger than gravity.

But it would need to come to an end. And it did. Rick had gone off to the kitchen to make lunch while Morty stayed in the lab to tidy up. They were working on something very exciting but needed full stomachs and a nice open space to really work it through. Morty was just finishing brooming out the crud when he heard the all to familiar sound of a portal opening behind him. He froze and all at once he felt his heart stop and grow cold. He'd put off thinking about this moment for as long as he could. And in many ways, he'd hoped to just stay with Rick forever in this moment of time and space. But he knew Rick... He knew it could never last. Turning to face his grandfather their eyes met and there was understanding there. Cold and harsh, grandpa Rick nodded and headed through the portal. Morty put down the broom and walked toward the glowing green portal when he heard Rick calling out for him, the garage door swung open and Rick happy as ever with a plate of sandwiches walked in. He paused suddenly when he saw Morty standing there in front of a portal. There was a heavy moment as Morty's eyes began to fill with tears his whole body shaking. Rick looked at him with pleading eyes. "Morty... Morty please." - "I'm sorry Rick." - "don't! DONT GO!" Morty only gave a sad smile as grandpa ricks hand reached out and yanked him back him. The last thing Morty saw was Rick calling out to him before he fell back into grandpa Ricks garage.

Grandpa Rick stared down at Morty. The boy would not make eye contact with him. He seemed lifeless and dead as he leaned against the cold metal work table. Rick stared and stared but still, nothing was said. No apology, no worried questions of how Rick made it out. NOTHING. And Rick knew why. Morty was an idiot, one who fell in love to easy, and the man he was back then was just Morty's type, being here, brought back to this place. Had just broken Morty's heart. But Rick wondered if Morty knew how much it had broken HIS heart. he remembered it well, being young and stupid trying to conquer simple science experiments when a wounded young man fell into his life. It was like he'd known him his whole life, the way they talked and moved around each other how they worked together how Morty admired and believed in Ricks ability to do anything. he hadn't realized how much time Morty was taking of his life till his wife accused him of cheating. After a night of heavy drinking thinking about his space traveler something came over him, this ache to talk with Morty to tell him all his problems. He'd intended to do just that when he'd stumbled into the garage. But then he saw how cute Morty looked, sleepy and tired his hair mused his lips pink and plump and when they kissed Rick could not stop he kept going until Morty was calling for him as he came. he'd been in love. he wanted to keep Morty forever, but then he'd been stolen away back through a portal.

Rick had wanted to follow Morty. He worked tirelessly until he invented a portal gun, and off he went leaving his wife and daughter behind. He'd scoured the universe every inch of it, looking for the man he'd fallen in love with. But he was nowhere, he fell into drugs alcohol, war, he received scars, but he never stopped looking, his skin grew gray his eyes cold with the horror he'd witnessed. When he heard the news that his daughtered had given birth. When he managed to pick himself up to meet his grandson... He saw it. The warm eyes, the curly brown hair. His daughter only smiled and called him 'Morty'

For a long while, he hated Morty. Wondered why he hadn't told Rick all those years ago who he was. He never would have touched him had he known... But then who was he kidding? He was drawn to Morty, overprotective, over-obsessed, he missed watching him mewl and moan missed those sweet kisses, missed his enthusiasm to help Rick with every project he could think of. Rick felt dirty for thinking about it. And tried to drown himself faster. But deep down he knew, that Morty was the reason for everything, the reason he discovered space, changed history, saved countless planets from those damn insects. It was always for Morty. So when the time came, and his portal gun malfunctioned, he shoved Morty through it and waited, waited until Morty fell in love with him, waited until they could not live without one another, and then, he tore them apart.

The two stood in silence. Their eyes refusing to meet. Morty feeling shame guilt, disgust for falling in love and making love to his grandfather albeit a past version of him, and Rick feeling disgusted for missing it. Without a word Morty made the first move, heading toward the exit of the garage with his head held low but Rick's cold callous hands wrapped around his wrist stopping him from going any further. "Let me go, Rick... I know what you're thinking... I know how mad you must be... How d-disgusted..." Rick's grip only tightened. "Please, Rick... P-Please just let me go!" Rick could see Morty's body shaking and he could hear the tears in Morty's voice. With a forceful tug, he pulled Morty back smirking when the brunette made a surprised gasp. Forcing Morty to face him Rick didn't hesitate before smashing their lips together Morty squirmed in shock but Rick only continued forcing his tongue into his mouth and teasing him just the way he knew Morty liked. When he finally pulled away Morty looked dazed and confused the tears still at the brink of his eyes. "R-Rick?" - "I've been looking for you for years Morty." Morty squirmed his expression a mixture of embarrassment and confusion "So don't leave me... again." Pushing Morty up onto the workbench Rick wasted no time diving in. After all, he had millennia of pent-up sexual frustration coursing through him... And his past self-had been kind enough to do all the prep work.

#rickmorty #c-137cest #since ive been gone so long i knew i had to pull out the big guns #a tripple threat drabble of fluff angst and just a pinch of filth

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thebabybrooklynriver · 6 years

Text

Brooks&Bei || Dinner & A Movie

Who: Brooks & Bei Where: Apartment When: Jan 11 What: Some tears. Some wet shoes. Some kissing.

Brooklyn stumbled into the apartment after what had to be the just the longest fucking day. His feet hurt. His back ached. He grumbled softly as he dropped his bag and stumbled over to the couch. He landed face first and cussed as he snuggled into it. He'd been overworking himself and knew it, but the money was necessary if he was going to go through with the lawyer... and he was. No matter how hard it was, how expensive. He'd given enough and his kids didn't deserve to suffer because he was a coward.

Back in the apartment, somewhere near the bathroom, a loud thud echoed out followed shortly after by a quick, hushed curse and the sound of shuffling steps.

Brooklyn's eyes narrowed as he turned his head, both to escape the suffocating heat of his own air trapped in the couch and because of the sound. He stood slowly, shuffling over toward the bathroom and knocking on the door. "Did you fall in the toilet again?"

Bei cursed behind the door and cleaned up his mess- which consisted of a shattered soap dish -before he finally turned to open the door. "No, asshole. That was one time- and my foot slipped when I was trying to change the lightbulb. Don't be a jerk about it. We can't all be freakishly tall giants."

"Are you hurt?" He asked with soft concern, "Or just startles with your hair doing that one flat sideway thing?"

He blinked then furrowed his brows in confusion. "...what?"

“Are you bleeding?” Brooklyn sighed as he moved to help him.

"No..." Bei replied automatically before he glanced down at his hands and noticed a small amount of blood welling on one finger. "Well- not badly." He grumbled before he turned to the medicine cabinet and started to dig through it.

He frowned and finished picking up the pieces before dumping them in the trash. He’d need to broom to be sure, especially with Finn but for now... “let me see?” He murmured and grabbed his hand.

"I'm fine, Brooklyn..." Bei protested as the larger man grabbed his hand. "It's just a scratch."

"I know," He murmured as he looked over the wound. Brooks smiled gently and washed his finger with a smile.

Bei let out an exasperated exhale, but he didn't fight Brooklyn. Instead he let the other wash his hand as he shift slightly by the sink.

Brooklyn licked his lips before looking over and kissing Bei gently.

Bei blinked, caught guard by the show of affection as he stared at Brooklyn.

He pulled back before grabbing a bandaid and putting over the cut.

"Brooklyn..."

"Yes, sir?" He asked as he looked over.

Bei froze and slowly lift his gaze to fix on Brooklyn once more.

He raised a brow over at him, "What did I grow a second head?"

"No... no. Just... don't-" He shook his head and looked away. "Don't call me sir."

"...wha- Whoa hey, I didn't mean to upset you."

"no... No. Not upset."

"Then... what's the big deal about saying sir?"

"just.. Don't?" He asked softly.

"Okay." He murmured as he ran a hand over his back, "I won't again."

Bei shivered and let out a breath as he closed his eyes..

Looking over him, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Brooklyn..."

He thumbed at his neck as he hummed. "Want to go out?"

"out?"

"On a date," he murmured as he kissed his jaw.

He bit his lip and swallowed. "Brooks..."

"Yes, Bei?" He murmured as he cupped his face, kissing him tenderly.

He made a soft noise against Brooklyn's lips before he kissed him back.

He cupped his face and kissed him once more, slowly.

Bei stepped in closer to brooks.

He groaned softly before breaking the kiss. "So?"

"you're supposed to be getting over me... Not kissing me and asking me on dates..." He whispered.

"I think I might have gotten my signals crossed then, "Brooklyn whispered as he nudged their noses together.

"Brooks..." He breathed out weakly.

"Tell me no and I'll just go make us dinner." He smiled, "Or we can go watch The Greatest Showman."

"you know I've already seen that..."

"And I know you'd watch it again and I haven't seen it."

Bei laughed softly and looked down.

Brooklyn nosed along his cheek and planted a kiss there.

A smile settled on his features and he bit his lip. "you make it hard to say no to you..."

"Kinda my whole secret plan," He teased, "Make it impossible to say no."

Bei laughed again and shook his head.

"That's when I ask for another cat."

"No. That I will emphatically say no to. One is enough."

He pouted but smiled, "So yes to the other part?"

"I... It's just... we..."

"We?" He asked softly.

"We shouldn't. You shouldn't. You should get over me. You shouldn't be kissing me."

"Is that what you really want?" Brooks asked, hands on Bei's hips.

"What I want doesn't matter, Brooklyn."

"I think it does."

"No." He pulled away and shook his head. "No, it doesn't."

"Back to square one." He sighed, "I'm not going to drop out of your life." Brooklyn reminded him gently. "Either way. Movie invitation stands and also I made soup."

He moved to cross his arms over himself. "Haven't you even noticed? The trips- their getting more and more frequent. And I know at my next appointment with my Cardiologist their going to tell me the original prognosis no longer stands. Why the hell would you even want to be involved with that?"

"I have. I've been there. Not for all of them I know, but a lot. I try. To get off work and be there when you want me. Scatter when you need to brood." Brooklyn replied as he met his eyes. "I told you. While you're living I want in. And I know there might hit a point where you're strapped to a bed and it ain't really a life anymore, and I'll be there too. Letting you brood and be angry and wagging my brows to try to make you laugh, because you? You're worth it."

Bei felt tears sting his eyes and he pursed his lips as he tried to hold them in. After a moment though they started to fall anyway and he moved to dig his palms into them, trying to physically push back the tears.

Brooklyn didn't say more. Just wrapped around him, holding him close and to his chest.

He tried to fight at first, hitting against Brooklyn's chest with closed fists. After a moment though, he seemed to nearly collapse against Brooklyn as the sobbing grew and he buried his face in the other's shoulder.

He took the hits easily. Wanted to. The weight Bei carried day in and out wasn't something anyone else could begin to bear. He knew that the struggles were large and small. Slowly consuming Bei's life as the shadow of his death grew longer. And even the hope felt like another sentence. Ten years. Ten years was a drop in a bucket to what the man should have. He felt all that and could do very little to ease it. To make it lighter. But he'd walk beside him anyway, in any capacity he could. Because if his own life would be defined in the before, during, and after of his time with Bei, he'd do the most to be present in every moment they had left. A dog with a bone. Loyal to the grave. "I'm not going to stop living once you're gone, if that's what you're worried about." Brooklyn said softly against his hair. "I wouldn't do your memory a disservice like that. You brought me back to life, Bei. Let me it live it with you, as a friend if that's all you can bear, for as long as I can."

"I hate you." Bei sobbed into Brooklyn's shoulder. His fingers curled into the other's shirt, and he repeated the words over and over again as his knees went weak and the brunt of his weight fell into the larger man. "I hate you, Brooklyn."

Brooklyn's stomach swooped unpleasantly at the words, but he held on regardless. Caught him as Bei slumped against him. He breathed in against his hair before picking him up and carrying him onto the couch. "I don't believe you, mostly cause you didn't say my full name."

He tried pathetically to struggle when he was picked up, but the effort was quickly abandoned as new tears took hold. "I hate you." He whispered again and again and again into Brooklyn's now wet shirt.

"Yeah, yeah." Brooks replied, "I hear that a lot." He sat with Bei in his lap and cupped his face, thumbing away tears. "It's okay to hate me, sometimes I hate me too."

"You can't- you don't get to do this." Bei tried to growl, but the sound came out as a pathetic whimper instead.

"Free will and all that." Brooks replied softly, kissing his nose then playfully squeezing his ass.

Bei hit his shoulder pathetically before he reached up and rubbed at his eyes.

He huffed a little at the hit and moved to rub his back in small soothing circles.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why?" He repeated softly

"Why what? I said a lot of stuff. Or was it why grab my ass, Brooks?" He murmured softly.

"Why are you doing this? Why won't you just..."

"Disappear at the first of trouble? Do some sort of cost analysis and decide that this is supremely not worth it?" Brooklyn replied, "React like you expect and not defy your every expectation of all humans ever?" He asked as he tucked back Bei's hair, "That?"

"Yes."

He breathed out and in, shallow breaths then deeper before speaking. "I- I am often guilty of not fighting for things I love or want because of fear I am not good enough. I reached a point where the fear, shame, anxiety- the bad made me believe that my self worth is nothing and I deserve nothing." Brooklyn whispered, the honesty behind the words opening scabs and old wounds and everything in between. Vulnerability. A man who wore his heart on his sleeve only to have it torn time and time again. "But I realized that this particular instance had nothing to do with my value and had to do with what you perceive yours to be." He met his eyes as he said, very firmly and with every ounce of belief, faith, and love he had, "And you are worth fucking stars, Bei Huang. Every moment of you is worth fucking stars. And the world will not die with you but it will be poorer and less beautiful without you in it, so I intend to make every second of your beautiful catastrophe of a life fucking miserable, since you hate me so much, by being there till those stars flicker out."

Bei felt the tears in his eyes renew and he squeezed them shut, shaking his head as he tried to pull away from Brooklyn.

Brooklyn held him in place, thumbing away the tears as he cupped his face. "I want to be." He said softly, "Short and simple. I want to be. I will be." He leaned their foreheads together and booped Bei's nose with his own. "I want to be."

"You just don't... get it."

"Do you need to?" Brooks asked softly, "because I think you could spend days hearing me give a dissertation on reasons why I want this and you'd wave it away as... pointless."

"I had accepted it." Bei whispered. IT's a part of me. A fact I can't fight- and I spent years doing that." He whispered softly. "When I first got shipped back, I was angry. And scared. And I didn't want to even consider that my life had effectively been carved into half of what it should be. I fought it- rebelled, ignored it. It took what felt like centuries to be okay with it. To accept that at worst, I have a year... and at best, I maybe have ten. That's my life, it's all I've got. And I have to live it the best I can. Then when it's done- it's done. That took me years. And now... without even thinking about it... without so much as a second thought, you swoop into my life and make me feel things... feel things that make me that scared, sniveling idiot again. Make me afraid to die."

Brooklyn chuckled, "You woke me up to once. It's about time I got to return the favor." His eyes stayed serious, trained on him as he thought, processed, and swallowed. "You- Fearing death and wanting to live are different. Maybe you feel both. But I think that maybe you'd resigned yourself to half living for a while there. I'm not saying that we'll be able to beat the odds. That you'll live tens years, or twenty or more. Maybe you get one. Maybe you get months, but better or worse I'm here. Hopeful and hopeless. All sides of this. I'm here."

"You don't get it." Bei repeated and shook his head as he looked away. "How could you?"

"You're right. I can't." He whispered, "I can't. But I'll listen if you want. I'll try my damnedest and when that's not enough I won't tell you not to feel it. Or make it seem like it's not a valid way of feeling. You're your own person, Bei. I'm not seeking to change that."

He shook his head and grabbed a pillow from the couch, pulling it in tight to his chest.

Brooklyn sighed and nodded, continuing to rub his back.

"I hate you." He whispered softly again, voice muffled by the pillow.

"Okay." He whispered back, kissing the top of his head.

He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into the pillow in his arms.

Spooky, being a cat, felt that this was the best time to make a home in the space between them. Nudging her head against Bei's over and over again in a demand for pets. "Spoops," Brooks said softly, using his free hand to pet her. "Not the best timing, buddy."

He shift, pulling away from the cat and instead sequestering himself further into the corner of the couch.

Brooks sighed, apologizing to the cat before moving her and moving to half lay on Bei. Hesitantly, he whispered. "Me too."

"... What?"

"Bei speak," He explained, stomach knotting in nervousness. "I hate you too. In Bei speak."

He lift his head and glanced up and over, gaze fixing on Brooklyn.

He swallowed thickly. And of course Finn had felt this was the best time to join them on the already full couch. Spooky hissing until she was able to climb atop him and settle down. Brooklyn laughed a little as he watched them and then looked up to Bei. "If I translated it right, anyway."

"Brooklyn..."

"Yeah?"

"I.... You..."

"Words, Bei. Use them. Unless you plan to do an interpretative dance."

He made a pathetic sound- something similar to a wet laugh as he lift a hand and rubbed his eyes.

He leaned in and kissed him gently, pulling his hands from his face as he deepened it.

He sniffled even as Brooklyn's lips met his, though he did close his eyes and lean into the kiss.

He cupped his face and tangled his other hand into Bei's hair.

Bei made a soft sound and leaned into the touch.

A beat and he broke the kiss, "Think you could eat?"

He pursed his lips before he slowly nodded his head.

"You wanna eat now or kiss more first?" He asked gently as he thumbed over his cheek, the line of his jaw.

"... Kiss."

"Good answer," He smiled and kissed him again, slow and wanting.

Bei kissed him back carefully.

He carded his hand through Bei's hair as he deepened it slowly.

He leaned into it and responded to the kiss in kind.

Brooklyn turned his body, chest to chest with Bei as he deepened it with his tongue sliding over the other mans.

A shiver slid through Bei when their tongues met, and it seemed to be all the provocation he needed before he moved, shifting on the couch till he was over Brooklyn, straddling him with both knees digging into the couch on either side.

Brooklyn stared up at him, licking his lips as his hands went over his sides. "Oh god." He whispered as he took Bei in, felt his body over him. "Beautiful." He murmured.

Bei leaned into the touch and bit his lip as he met Brooklyn's eyes.

He smiled, a little dopey looking as he kissed him gentled again.

Bei smiled back before he fell in against Brooklyn, kissing him back softly.

He ran a hand through Bei's hair, kissing him more and more deeply.

His hips rolled down slowly as both hands found their way to the sides of Brooklyn's neck.

He groaned softly before grinding up against him.

A quiet moan escaped him, the sound muffled by Brooklyn's lips as his fingers pressed into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Bei," He rasped as he deepened the kiss once again.

"Yeah?" He whispered against his lips.

"Want you," He rasped as he kissed him once more.

"Surprise..." Bei teased before he kissed him back hard, teeth grazing against his lower lip.

"Shut it," He murmured back with his lip caught in Bei's teeth. Tugging it free, he kissed down to his jaw and neck.

Bei tipped his head willingly, exposing his neck to Brooklyn as he pushed a hand up into his long hair. "That's just rude..."

Brooklyn sucked a mark into his neck. "And?"

He groaned, fingers tangling and tugging on the hair that he'd grasped. "You... shouldn't be... rude."

Brooklyn shuddered, "Yes S-, Yes Bei."

Bei pulled back slightly, blinking as he looked at Brooklyn.

"What?" He licked his lips.

"S...?"

"Sir?" He flushed, "But you said not too."

He shivered and bit his lip as he closed his eyes.

"Bei?" He asked gently.

"...yeah?"

"Is that bad?"

"No... no." He replied breathlessly.

"Oh?" He flushed, "do you like stuff like that?"

He pursed his lips and shift slightly. "Yeah... that-... that, I do."

"Oh," He breathed out, "Like Norman and the harnesses?"

He furrowed his brows. "Huh?"

"He wears them... under his clothes."

"I vaguely remembering him mention it. Have you... and Norman?"

"No. We're friends. He showed me... Both bottoms, ya know?" He flushed a little.

"Two bottoms can sleep together, Brooklyn..." Bei laughed softly.

"I know... I'm not saying they can't.... I think our likes just run too similarly... I like... being topped. Dominating."

He smiled and nodded. "So I've noticed."

"That's why I don't generally top." He murmured as he glanced away. "The pressure to be in control..."

Bei leaned in and pressed a soft, careful kiss to Brooklyn's neck. "Everyone has their preferences."

He shivered as he felt Bei's mouth, hands grasping at his hips. "Bei."

"Yeah?"

"Please," He murmured gently.

"Please?"

Brooks nodded as he pulled him down for a hard kiss.

Bei groaned and leaned in, kissing him back.

He rolled his hips up as he groaned loudly.

Bei ground his own hips down against Brooklyn's as he tugged on his hair.

He moaned again, continuing to move his hips as he deepened the kiss.

The moan made Bei shiver and he tipped Brooklyn's head to kiss along the line of his jaw.

He pressed his head back against the couch, "Bei." He rasped in a moan, hand sliding under his shirt.

He rolled his hips once more and kissed down to his neck, leaving a mark there.

He groaned at the contact, his own hips pressing up to increase the friction.

He kissed along the line of his throat slowly, down over his shoulder as he tugged Brooklyn's shirt collar to the side.

"I can just... take it off." He pointed out as he shivered.

"I know..." Bei whispered against his skin.

"Don't you want me to?" He asked as he licked his lips.

"Not... at this moment, no." He whispered and shook his head.

"Why?"

"Are you in such a rush?"

"No?" He rasped out then shivered again.

"Liar..."

"I am," He chuckled as he moved to kiss him hard.

Bei groaned into it as he kissed Brooks in return.

"I am lying," He murmured between kisses, "I want you."

He smiled and nipped at Brooklyn's lip again slowly.

He shivered as he shut his eyes, enjoying the sensation. The feeling of him there and close and warm.

Bei pulled back and bumped his nose to Brooklyn's before he pursed his lips. "So..." He managed after a beat with a sly grin. "Movie?"

He whined but after a moment nodded, "Movie."

"I'm surprised you agreed." He laughed softly.

Brooklyn pouted but pushed back Bei's hair with one hand.

He leaned into the touch and exhaled.

“Would you like to go now?” He asked gently.

"Yeah... yeah." He nodded his head.

Brooklyn kissed him gently once again.

He sighed softly and kissed him back.

He pulled away, “come on time to watch you musical husband.”

"You can't tell me you aren't as infatuated with him as I am."

“Haven’t seen the movie to know,” he smiled.

"You have seen Hugh Jackman, though."

“I have,” He asked as he kissed him gently.

"And you're telling me you aren't infatuated with him?"

“I had more of a crush Magnus.” He smiled.

"Magnus?"

“Bane.” He hummed.

"...you mean the gay wizard from that one tv show?"

“The actor from the movie was hot as well,” he pointed out.

Bei rolled his eyes and got off Brooklyn's lap.

He grinned after him and pulled him back, kissing over his stomach and chest.

Bei fell back with an oof and laughed softly.

He hummed against him. “Eat first. Okay? I made soup.”

"...what is with you and shoving food down my throat?"

“I love you and I feed people I love?”

"Brooklyn..."

"Eat." He nudged him forward.

"I can eat there... or on the way... or after."

"Do you not like my soup?"

"Your soup is fine Brooklyn."

"But the movie is better?"

Bei glanced over and offered a sheepish grin.

He nudged him before standing, "Go. Shoes."

His grin grew before he scrambled to his feet and moved to the door.

Brooklyn went after him slowly, pulling on his shoes as he watched Bei.

His eyes narrowed, "First foremost."

"...what?"

"Are shoes more important than food?"

"Equal. We'll get food when we get your shoes."

"But I made food." Brooklyn pointed out.

"Then we'll eat when we get back."

"Promise?" Brooks asked as he grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together.

Bei stopped short, looking from Brooklyn, down to their hands, then back up.

"Is that bad?" He asked, loosening his grip.

"No... no. Just..."

"Just?"

"Just..."

"No?"

"I don't know what... this... we..."

"Do we need to define it past I'm here for you, right now?"

"No... no."

"Would you feel more comfortable with waiting till we know what this is a little more?" Brooks asked, "Cause I... I think I could do with waiting if you could."

His brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean.... I don't know what this is either. And I think I'd want a few dates before you decide whether to keep me or not." He smiled.

He laughed softly and looked down at his feet. "You know me, Brooklyn. You know I'm..."

"Poly?" Brooklyn asked, "Yeah I know."

"Yeah. Exactly."

"I don't expect that to change?"

"You don't?"

"Why would I?"

"I don't know..."

Brooks licked his lips, "Bei I don't... want something more than what we had... although the kissing would be nice if that continued."

"You don't?"

"It's not like I won't get jealous, just that... your happiness comes first. And jealous is like, ah I wish he was with me. Not like HE CAN'T BE WITH ANYONE ELSE."

"But you're not... you're not poly, are you?"

"I... don't know?" He frowned, "I haven't thought about it."

"Really? You've never thought about it?"

"I spent most of my adult life with one person." Brooklyn replied, "And I loved her so I was happy to be with just her." He inhaled, "Now faced with the possibility of more... I don't know."

Bei licked his lips and nodded his head slowly. "Yeah... yeah. I guess that makes sense."

"I think if I found someone I loved," Brooklyn replied quietly, clearly unsure of himself., "Or could love like I do you, I would like the idea of being with both of you."

He glanced up, lifting one hand to push it through his hair.

"But if I'm honest, I don't know yet."

"That's... that's fair. That's very fair."

Brooklyn huffed a little, looking at his feet and squishing his toes against the sole of his wet shoe. "I might not be poly, but I've become more and more educated on it since I moved in with you. And I am of the belief that there is nothing wrong or unnatural about it. I've reflected on it enough to know that the human heart isn't limited to a certain portion of love. So you do you, Bei."

Bei glanced up and bit his lip. Eventually he shook his head and pushed a hand back through his hair. "In the end I guess it doesn't matter anyway."

"Why not?" He frowned a little as he looked over.

"It's not like I'm actually going to date anyone anyway."

"Oh... That's fair." He murmured and squeezed his hands. "So is there like a payless near by?"

Bei looked up to meet Brooklyn's gaze and smiled softly. "I'm sure we can find one."

He leaned into him, bumping their shoulders before moving out the door with Bei in tow.

He let out a quiet laugh and kept close as he followed Brooks out.

#semperfibeiby

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